



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


Cliap!5!ZbGopyriglit No, 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


































•1 









THE 


CARDIFF ESTATE. 

A S'TORY. 



BY 


JULIA MacNAIR WRIGHT, 


AUTHOR OF “ ADAM’S DAUGHTERS,” MR. GROSVENOR’S DAUGH- 
TER,” “ A NEW SAMARITAN,” ” ON A SNOW-BOUND TRAIN,” 

“ THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF,” ETC., ETC. 


” The joy that you give to others is the joy that comes back to you ; 
And the more you spend in blessing the ^nd sad, 

The more of your heart’s poss< 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 


lO EAST 23d STREET, NEW YORK 


TWO COPIES KECtlVED 


6>9 - eio 






COPYRIGHT, 1897, 

BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 


CONTENTS 




CHAPTER I. 

HOME? ..Page 5 

CHAPTER II. 

SEEDS OF FIRE.. 26 

CHAPTER III. 

“ THE MASTER CALLETH THEE" - 48 

CHAPTER IV. 

LIFE MORE AB UNDANTL Y. 69 

CHAPTER V. 

FOR WHOSE SAKE? gj 

CHAPTER VI. 

CARDIFF GRANITE //^ 

CHAPTER VII. 

^MANDY ANN..... ijj 

CHAPTER VIII. 

WA TER FROM AN EMPTY WELL 155 

CHAPTER IX. 

ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA 173 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER X. 

“ WHAT IS THAT TO THEE?'' 193 

CHAPTER XL 

''ME 'N' PARDNER" 212 

CHAPTER XII. 

AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS 236 

CHAPTER XIII. 

TWO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL. 253 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE YOUNG MANS MODEL 275 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE FALL OF THE BAS TILE... 293 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE HAND ON THE HELM 317 

CHAPTER XVII. 

TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN YOU.. 333 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

HOME? 333 


THE 


CARDIFF ESTATE. 


CHAPTER I. 

HOME? 

“ Alas the slippery nature of tender youth !” 

“ Youth holds no society with grief.*' 

The place was the Union Station : time, ten 
o’clock on a hot June morning. A group of 
returning tourists stood, tired, warm and dusty — 
ill-tempered withal — on the platform. They 
had unawares drawn up into two divisions. A 
lad and lass of fifteen, twins, richly attired, and 
full of a roguish joy — formed one section, and 
the more numerous elders of the company, 
eight or ten of them, the other. From these 
latter, surprised and irritated exclamations — 
What ! no carriages for us !” “ Where ’s my 

coachman? I sent especial word for him.” 
“Only those hideous, crowded street cars!” 
“ Ride in those hot herdics !” “ I can’t bear 

those public hacks ; I know they are full of all 
manner of diseases 1” “ Where are our people !” 


6 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


Then John Cardiff the lad — exultant, “You’ll 
have to go in the hacks, there wont one of your 
carriages be here.” “Why not?” “ I wrote.” 
“We wrote.” “ I gave the orders.” “ But your 
letters were n’t sent, not one of ’m, for a week ! 
I kept the whole outfit until just as we left, last 
night, and mailed them all together ! I ’ve been 
mail-man, and that ’s how I did the business.” 
“Not mailed our letters!” “John Cardiff!” 
“You young reprobate!” “And did you keep 
our mail too ? for not one of us has had a letter 
since we left Bergs.” 

“ That ’s because I telegraphed back to Berg 
to return all letters to the city, and send none 
on. We had concluded to go back. Did that 
more than a week ago !” 

“ How could you !” “ How did you ?” “ I ’ve 

a mind to prosecute you, you rascal !” “ It ’s an 

actionable offence ” — this last from an editor, 
very excited and red in the face, who considered 
that all mundane affairs must have fallen into 
confusion since his Journal had not heard from 
him for a week. 

“ Did n’t you say, Mr. Sartor, that you wished 
you could get where you would neither hear nor 
be heard from for a month ? I thought I ’d let 
you have your wish, for a week. How do you 
like it?” jeered John. 

“ I shall communicate with your father about 


HOMEf 


7 


your conduct,” retorted Mr. Sartor, flinging him- 
self into a herdic, and ordering the driver to get 
him to his office as soon as possible. 

Communicate with their father ! The twins 
laughed aloud at the idea of their father paying 
any heed to their pranks. 

“We might have known you ’d do something 
horrid,” said Miss Larrimore, whose love-letters 
were among the missing ; “ you two are too de- 
testable for words. I wonder any of us put up 
with you,” and she signalled a hack. 

Why were they put up with ? It had long 
been plain to them : they had money to lavish, 
time to waste, a big fortune back of them ; they 
were bright and handsome — the future comes 
on apace — rich boys and girls become rich young 
men and women. E'er this they had been tol- 
erated. They understood that, also that some 
of their capers had been considered vastly amus- 
ing — by those that were not their victims. Now 
all their company had been victimized, and all 
were irate. 

“ Come right along with me,” said Mrs. Fow- 
ler angrily, as she motioned for a carriage, “ I 
made myself responsible to your father for you, 
and I suppose I must take you home. I am 
shocked to think that you should go so far as 
to meddle with people’s mail-matter! Suppose 
some of us had been summoned home to a case 


8 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


of illness in our families, or even death ? What 
then?” 

“ Pooh,” said the girl, shrugging her shoul- 
ders, “ what could happen in a week or ten days ! 
How much worse off are we than when there 
were no telegraphs, and the mail was carried on 
horseback? Folks didn’t hear once in two or 
three weeks from people then — and nothing 
happened. Have n’t you all said dozens of times 
you wished you could get out of reach of dis- 
patches, letters, invitations, bills, business ? 
Now you have had your wish, thanks to us, and 
you ’re angry.” 

Mr. Ball especially. When we saved him 
from duns for a week,” cried John. 

“ No, thanks, Mrs. Fowler, Jean and I are 
not coming with you. We are going to ride in 
a herdic ; we have always wanted to, and now 
we ’ll do it.” 

“ Yes, let us go home,” said Jean. It do n’t 
all seem so funny as I thought it would.” 

There was a cloud over her dark sensitive 
face : a girl of great possibilities, no doubt of 
marked individuality, which hitherto had not 
asserted itself, for she was entirely devoted to 
following this lad’s lead, laughing when he 
laughed, mocking when he mocked, yielding to 
all his plans, not from inherent weakness, but 
from the very strength of her character, intense 


HOME? 


9 


in its loving as in all things, and all her love 
being centered on him, its only offered object, 
since they were cradled together and had cooed 
to each other in the lap of one nurse. 

“Take us to Joshua P. Cardiff’s,” said the 
lad to the herdic driver. “You know where 
Joshua P. Cardiff is.” 

“ Oh yes, I know,” said the man, shaking his 
head doubtfully, and gathering up the lines, as 
Jean and John established themselves in his 
vehicle. Away they rolled ; the sun shone hot- 
ly upon the city streets, there was an odor of 
offal carts and of eating-houses, oppressive after 
the pure mountain air. The herdic bounced 
heavily upon the cobble-stones and across the 
car-tracks. 

“What is wrong, Jean? What are you so 
dull for ?” 

“I don’t know. I wish we hadn’t gone. I 
wish we had n’t come back. I wish we had not 
made them all angry by our tricks with the mail. 
It was mean, when they had all been so kind.” 

“ Kind ? How kind, when we paid our way 
same as every one ! Yes, and I know I paid 
Ball’s share too ; he never has any money. Say, 
Jean, the reason we had no papers in our car 
was, I gave the newsboy two dollars to keep 
out. I wanted the city to burst on them with 
a surprise, like a strange land !” 


lo THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

They had passed through various streets and 
turned many corners, and now reached the last 
turning to their uptown home. A large black 
vehicle, hitherto unknown to their experiences, 
was before them, moving slowly, stopping, bar- 
ring their way, the great plumed car and the 
plumed black horses nearly blocking the street — 
and men drew from it a long, black broadcloth- 
covered coffin, heavily trimmed with silver, in 
studs, handles, plates, and raising it to their 
shoulders ascended the white marble steps. A 
door from which a great trailing scarf of black 
floated, was flung open and this ominous offer- 
ing vanished within — their home ! Stunned into 
silence and pallor, the twins clasped hands and 
slowly followed up to that black-scarfed entrance. 
Again it was opened — they stood as aliens, mute, 
imploring. 

“Oh, Master John and Miss Jean! Have 
you been found at last! and your father dead 
since last night !” said the butler, who was all 
in black, with a weed on his arm, instead of 
resplendent in his usual livery of green and 
orange. Then from the hall, amid the some- 
what gaudy magnificence of marbles, plants, 
paintings, mosaics, and draperies, came a tall 
woman in deep mourning, her hair lightly 
sprinkled with gray, love and pity shining in 
her eyes, and holding out a hand to each of 


HOME? 


II 


the chilled, dazed pair, she said, “ Dear children, 
this is a sad welcome home. I am your aunt. 
Prudence Cardiff.” 

She led them quietly up stairs to their rooms, 
rooms opposite each other, luxurious, where so 
much joyful mischief had been planned by 
these ungoverned two, mischief resulting in the 
ignominous rout of nurses, tutors, and govern- 
esses. On the bed in each room lay a suit of 
mourning, and as the twins closed their respec- 
tive doors and faced their home-coming, they 
realized that they who had closed all avenues 
of communication with home, were the only 
ones whom letters, telegrams, and messengers 
had been vainly seeking, in whose home some- 
thing had happened.” 

It was an hour or two after, when the under- 
taker’s men had gone away and left Joshua 
Cardiff lying in state in his satin-lined coffin, 
flowers heaped about it, his butler seated near 
in solemn watch, that Miss Prudence Cardiff led 
her niece and nephew to look upon their father’s 
face. It was paler and more set than in life, 
but scarcely more indifferent to them, for he 
had always been so busy heaping up fortunes 
for those children, that he had had but little 
time to pay attention to the children them- 
selves. 

When any unusual outbreak had made it 


12 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


needful that they should be called to meet him 
in the library, the formula had been, “ Really, I 
am surprised that you should make me so much 
trouble, when I am so exceedingly busy. Do 
not let anything of this kind happen again.” 

As they now stood looking at him who since 
their first year had been their only parent, they 
were trying to hark back and weave his person- 
ality, his love, into the fabric of their lives; 
they would make him out as some one loved, 
cherished, leaned on, now to be greatly missed. 
It was impossible! this had not been the fash- 
ion of his fatherhood- The boy stood troubled, 
awed, dumb; the girl wept violently. Their 
aunt was between them, her arm about Jean’s 
waist, her hand on the lad’s shoulder. “ He 
was struck with paralysis four days ago,” said 
Miss Cardiff ; it was evidently fatal from the 
first. They sent for me, and have been trying 
to find you. We wanted you here, but he never 
recovered consciousness. After I came here I 
found on his desk in the library a letter, which 
he had been writing to me the night before he 
was seized at his office with this fatal stroke. I 
will show it to you. It has been a great comfort 
to me.” 

“ We can’t look at anything now,” said John, 
“ we want to be by ourselves ; come Jean,” and 
taking her hand, he pulled her somewhat has- 


HOMEf 


13 


tily towards the library. Miss Cardiff let them 
go. She counted for nothing in their lives, of 
course, she had not seen them since the week 
of their mother’s death. 

When they left her she went back to a little 
morning parlor and sat down, taking a letter 
from her pocket and spreading it out upon her 
lap. That letter had been her companion and 
solace since her brother had drawn the last of 
those loud, heavy breaths, which for four days 
had been almost his sole sign of life. His dy- 
ing had revived in her heart all that early affec- 
tion, which in long and enforced absence seemed 
to have fallen asleep, and this letter had pre- 
vented her from being stung and torn and agon- 
ized to the extent of that loving — it was a letter 
so much beyond her hoping, but not beyond her 
daily praying. It is, however true, that so often 
we do not expect and hope up to the level of 
our most ardent prayers. In this letter God had 
been kinder than her fears ; it gave her 

“ Some landing-place, to clasp and say 
‘ Farewell, we lose ourselves in light.’ ” 

She remembered how, nearly eighteen years be- 
fore, she and he had parted, their life-paths ly- 
ing so opposite, so apart, that they could not 
tread them together. She had been willing at 
any time to reunite her lot with his, if she 
might do so without trespassing on conscience. 


14 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


When her sister-in-law had died she had 
been summoned, for from the deadly contagion 
of that case of malignant scarlet-fever most of 
the household had fled. The twin babies 
escaped as by a miracle; perhaps it was the 
miracle of her judicious care. She had offered 
then to stay and rear them, as with mother love, 
but her brother had declined her offer. He and 
the children had gone away into the country, 
and after she had remained and given two 
months to seeing the house thoroughly disin- 
fected, repainted, papered, carpetted and up- 
holstered, she had departed almost unthanked. 
She had written regularly once a fortnight dur- 
ing all the following years. Her letters were 
but seldom answered ; it is so hard to forgive 
those whom we have injured ! Now at the last, 
as this letter told her, repentance and love to- 
ward her had suddenly awakened ; and it seemed 
repentance had perhaps been Godward also. 
Who knows ? It might have been. Suppose he 
had lived ? Would he have brought forth fruits 
meet for repentance? What useful lives she 
and he might then have led ! The gate to such 
usefulness now seemed open before her. It had 
been set wide by the hand of death. 

Meanwhile in the library the twins had for 
a time faced each other ; then John had burst 
out, “ What is she here for ? Is she going to stay ?” 


HOME? 


15 


“She seems very kind,” sobbed Jean. 

“ Kind ? She ’s a crank — the crankiest kind 
of a Puritan, stiff-set in her ways as they make 
’em ; wants her conscience to measure up every- 
body’s thinking. That ’s why she left. Father 
could n’t stand her. Oh, I know. I overheard a 
thing or two that father and Mr. Thomas Dy- 
sart were saying one night when I happened to 
have dropped into a doze in the bay-window 
here. Of course, as I overheard it that way, I 
did n’t mention it, even to you. I ’m a man of 
honor.” 

“ But what was there here, in our house, to 
hurt any one’s conscience ?” demanded Jean 
angrily. “ Who could say we were not respec- 
table people? If our father was not good 
enough to live with, what did she want?” 

“Something about the way the money was 
made ; it was not clean enough to suit her. 
Any money that I can get any fun out of is 
clean enough for me. I do n’t believe in people 
setting up for Puritans.” 

“ I should think money would be made dirty 
by the way it was used, not by the way it was 
gotten,” said Jean. We can’t help how money 
was made in the first place. But, John, I ’ve 
always wished I had been one of the Puritans. 
There seems to me something grand about them, 
among the storms and rocks and snows holding 


1 6 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

themselves above all these little luxuries most 
folks think they must have or die !” 

Carriages and coachmen, for instance, like 
our crowd this morning. But I never set up for 
a Puritan, and you wouldn’t either, Jean, in 
most circumstances ; their rocks and snows only 
seem fine on a hot day.” 

“ But I want to know more about Aunt Pru- 
dence,” urged Jean; where did she go? what 
did she do?” 

What ’s the odds ? She has come here for 
the funeral ; she ’ll go in a few days. She went 
off and supported herself some way — writing, 
teaching, somehow; and then I suppose she 
thought her money was clean enough to suit 
her ladyship. O dear! I wish this all hadn’t 
happened !” and John drove his head into a heap 
of downy cushions, striving to bury himself. 
Jean stood alone in the center of the darkened 
room ; books and pictures lined the walls about 
her; the great desk was near; she looked a 
strong girl as she stood there, stronger than the 
lad twisting his slender graceful figure among 
the soft cushions. In some way that slight 
sketch of her aunt impressed and attracted her : 
the firm convictions, the strength for revolt, the 
capacity for self-support, the superiority to ease 
and luxury — there was in Jean the same blood 
that was in her Aunt Prudence, and it was tell- 


HOME? 


^7 


ing. When she had stood just now by her 
father’s coffin, she had looked up at her aunt 
and had caught a strong resemblance between 
her and her father in some of the finest hours of 
his life. They had been hours when Jean dimly 
apprehended that the very best in him was up- 
permost. Once or twice when he had been in 
church with her, once when he listened with 
her to the Oratorio of the Messiah, once when 
he watched with the twins through a night of 
critical illness ; again, when an old friend, who 
seemed a holy man and not like the ordinary 
mortals of “ their set,” had spent a few days at 
their home. This remembered expression had 
come back to the face of her father as he lay 
calm in death ; and as Prudence Cardiff bent 
over her brother, Jean had seen the stamp of 
kindred between them. 

The butler opened the library door : ‘‘ Mr. 
Dysart, Master John and Miss Jean !” John 
came out from the pillows, and Jean’s statuesque 
attitude relaxed. Mr. Dysart put his arm about 
Jean, and held out his hand to John. “This is 
a terrible blow to you, children — sudden — sud- 
den to us all! I expected your father to live 
twenty or thirty years yet.” Then he sat down 
with the twins one on each side of him. 

“What are we going to do, Mr. Dysart?” 
asked Jean, after the particulars of their father’s 


2 


1 8 THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 

death had been explained, and their own ab- 
sence owing to John’s foolish tricks accounted 
for. 

'‘We’ll stay here, of course, and go on as 
usual,” said John. 

“ Now, John, you know perfectly well we are 
not of age, and will need guardians and all that, 
like the Moores.” 

“ I ’m your guardian,” announced Mr. Dysart. 

“ Whew !” said John softly, and looked side- 
ways at Mr. Dysart. He was one of his earliest 
remembrances, a familiar figure, and John felt 
that he had most distinctly respected him, al 
ways been on his best behavior before him ; 
that Mr. Dysart’s presence had been as a lens 
making moral affairs loom large. 

“ Your aunt and I are the personal guardians, 
but your aunt is sole trustee and manager of the 
entire property. It was so ordered in your 
grandfather’s will. Your father had sole control 
during his life ; if he died leaving minor heirs 
your aunt had entire control during her life. 
Your father was to pay your aunt a certain 
share of income during his administration ; and 
she has the same charge toward you.” 

“Did she accept her share?” asked John 
sneeringly. 

“ It was paid into the bank in her name, and 
there it lies.” 


HOME? 


19 


I think it is the meanest, wretchedest ar- 
rangement I ever heard of,” said John hotly. 
“ I don’t mean you, Mr. Dysart ; you have always 
been a friend — and you are a man, and you know 
what ’s what. A fellow has to have a guardian, 
it seems, if he is not of age. But to put Jean 
and me into the hands of that Puritan fanatic ! 
And we ’ll have to keep her in this house, I sup- 
pose !” 

“ She is likely to keep herself in this house, 
as she belongs here,” said Mr. Dysart dryly, 
“ and she is one of the noblest women that ever 
lived. When your mother died of a terrible 
contagious disease, from which every one fled, 
your aunt came here unasked, and risked her 
life for you all.” 

“How did my mother die, Mr. Dysart?” 
asked Jean, below her breath. 

“She died of the most malignant form of 
scarlet-fever. It came to her, no doubt, from one 
of your father’s tenement-houses ; he brought it 
to her and escaped himself. Of course he did 
not know that he had been exposed to the infec- 
tion.” 

“That was the way John and I got diphthe- 
ria, when we came near dying with it,” said Jean. 

“Why did he go near the horrid places?” 
said John. “ Why did n’t he send an agent, and 
keep where it was healthy ?” 


20 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“ Why did n’t he make the tenements healthy ? 
People live in them,” said Jean; and here spoke 
the difference between these twins. 

“Pooh, child!” said John, “you don’t know 
anything about business. Girls never do.” 

“ Then how is Aunt Prudence going to man- 
age all our father’s business ? She is only a girl 
grown up,” said Jean. 

“ She ’ll run it into the ground and get us all 
into the poorhouse,” said John sulkily. 

“You’ll find yourself much mistaken in her, 
my lad,” said Mr. Dysart. “ There are few like 
her.” 

“ I wish there was none like her,” growled 
John. 

Again the twins were left alone ; again John 
restlessly worried with the lounge-pillows ; and 
again Jean was silent, half dazed, half thought- 
ful. This entrance of Death into their surround- 
ings irritated the lad ; he resented the stillness, 
the shadows, the crowding of solemn words and 
thoughts, the approach of change, the call of 
responsibility. To Jean the death angel came 
like the stately Ithuriel with his transforming 
spear, that dissipated all shams and evoked the 
true. John resolutely made up his mind to 
avoid that black-draped drawing-room and the 
still form under white flowers. Instead, all this 
drew Jean ; she crept back there. Miss Cardiff 


HOME? 


21 


saw her from the little morning-room where she 
sat alone. Her niece and nephew seemed to 
avoid her, and she felt reluctant to thrust herself 
into those two lives from which she had always 
been so sedulously excluded. Deserted by her 
natural ally and twin, robed for the first time in 
those clinging black weeds, there was something 
so forlorn and pathetic in Jean’s young figure 
that Miss Cardiff instantly followed her. 

Presently Jean lifted her head and spoke 
across the coffin : “ I am wondering why I was 
not more with him ; why I never thought he 
might be lonely, or might like me to sit with 
him and talk to him. John and I were always 
together, having our own amusement, you know, 
and father always seemed so busy and not to 
know what to say to young folks. Now it is too 
late. Now I have no one but John.” 

“ And I have no one but you two !” cried 
Miss Cardiff impulsively. “ You are all of my 
kin left in the world, and I am growing old. 
Let me be something to you. I have always 
cared for you, although I was not allowed to see 
you. Love me, Jean, for I love you.” Miss 
Cardiff impulsively clasped the girl in her arms. 
Jean had known no mother; her governesses 
had been her natural enemies ; she had envied 
other girls’ mothers and aunts sometimes. She 
was ready to yield to this offered love, but felt 


22 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


instinctively that John, her leader and ally, had 
elected to be his aunt’s enemy. Thus it was, 
after all, but half-heartedly that she held her 
aunt’s hand and rested her cheek on her shoul- 
der. Miss Cardiff’s eyes were something like 
those closed eyes in the coffin, and if she were 
really alone in the world, it was indeed hard to 
refuse her friendship. 

The day wore away. The three mourners 
sat together making a pretence of eating the six 
o’clock dinner. Then John ostentatiously shut 
himself and his sister into the library. Aunt 
Prudence might as well know that she was not 
wanted. However about eight o’clock when it 
was growing dusk. Aunt Prudence came in. 
John rose and handed her a chair ; he meant to 
act the gentleman and the host in this house. 

“I wanted to talk to you two, about your 
father,” said Miss Prudence. “ The night be- 
fore he was struck with paralysis he wrote me 
here in the library a letter, and it was found 
lying sealed and directed on this table next day. 
I am glad that we may regard that letter as the 
latest expression of his feelings.” 

“ Can’t you tell us first why you have never 
been here, and why you and father had so little 
to do with each other?” demanded John coldly. 

“ I wrote to him frequently,” said the aunt 
humbly. 


HOME? 


23 

“Letters don't count for much," said John 
brusquely; “he never spoke of you — did he, 
Jean ?" 

“The explanation begins far back in your 
grandfather’s time, and you might as well have 
it fully," said his aunt. 

“ Your grandfather, my father, inherited two 
blocks of houses in the lower part of the city ; 
you know the property, you have seen it." 

“We know where it lies on the city map," 
said Jean, “but we know very little of it, for 
father never would allow us to go there ; he was 
afraid of our getting some disease ; he said it 
was pestilential." 

“ One of these blocks had been used for busi- 
ness purposes, and one for the homes of well-to- 
do people, when my grandfather bought them, 
but by the time my father inherited them the 
city business and comfortable homes had trav- 
elled far from them, into what had been little 
villages and farm lands in my grandfather’s 
boyhood ; and only the destitute, the swarms of 
poor foreigners, would occupy these two blocks. 
My father found them tenement-houses for day- 
laborers, and as the city still travelled fast and 
far from them, and the properties were yearly 
less respectable and more crowded, only the 
very poor inhabited them when your father and 
I were about the age of you two. Until then 


24 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


we had been an entirely irreligious family. We 
occasionally went to church, we had a Bible, as 
we had a dictionary ; but no thought of our duty 
to God or to our neighbors seemed ever to enter 
our minds. Just then a very godly, fervent 
minister came to the church nearest us. He 
began a house-to-house visitation ; he preached 
the gospel most powerfully, and the Spirit of 
God attended all his labors. Scores were con- 
verted. My mother and I were among these. 
Your father and grandfather were of those who 
cared for none of these things. It came true as 
is said in the gospel, we were a divided house, 
all our opinions and our plans of life, our con- 
victions of duty were different. Our amuse- 
ments and our business were divided ; they be- 
came matters of conscience. Your grandmother 
and I felt that those terrible tenement-houses, 
the slums from which the family luxury and 
ease were drawn, were too terrible for endur- 
ance. The places were most unsanitary, disease 
rioted there, rents were exorbitant for the ac- 
comodation given ; they were crowded beyond 
all decency ; they were hotbeds of physical and 
moral ruin ; and many of the cellars and rooms 
were rented for grogshops and dens of the most 
shameless description. Our money all came 
from this defiance of the good of our neighbor, 
and to us it seemed unclean, wages of iniquity.” 


HOME? 


25 


“I don’t see how it was any affair of yours,” 
said John hotly ; “ you could not help it ; you did 
not run the business.” 

“We tried to help it ; we plead and we gave, 
but we could neither influence my father nor 
help the tenants as long as the terrible condi- 
tions remained the same. Slowly my mother’s 
heart was broken over ills she could not cure. 
She and I had used as little of the wages of un- 
righteousness as we could. I had secured the 
best education the city afforded, and when my 
mother died I left home to support myself by 
teaching and writing. My father died a year 
before you twins were born ; he was a whimsical 
man. He left all his property undivided in the 
hands of your father, to manage as he saw fit, 
paying a certain income to me. If 1 survived 
your father the undivided property was to come 
to me, to run as I saw fit, with a certain propor- 
tion of income to be paid to any children your 
father might leave. My earnest opposition to 
the method in which he managed these tene- 
ment houses angered your father ; he was cold 
and had little to do with me. Twice in time of 
sickness and death I came to his rescue ; my 
work for him done, I left because I could not 
share in the iniquity of his business.” 


26 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


CHAPTER II. 

SEEDS OF FIRE. 

“ In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.” 

“ Then he speaks 
What 's in his heart.” 

'‘Well, Aunt Prudence,” said John, “it 
seems to me you were simply fanatical. Why 
was my father not as likely to be right about 
the business as you were ?” 

“ Because, my nephew, there is a rule laid 
down for right action ; it is found in the Bible, 
and the ‘ thus saith the Lord,’ is final in moral 
matters; I had that : the ‘ Do as you would be 
done unto,’ ‘ Thou shalt not oppress the poor,’ 
the constant command to succor the needy, to 
recognize human kindness ; the example of 
Christ, prince of the poor and the outcast, the 
sufferer’s friend. 

“But why bring that into business?” asked 
John. 

“ Because, if one is truly a Christian, it will 
not stay out of business; all that we are and 
have should be the Lord’s.” 

“ I think religion is a matter for Sunday and 
church and your private life, if you want it so ; 
but not for business. I think this religion in 


SEEDS OF FIRE. 


27 


business is as much of a humbug as Church and 
State,” said John. 

“You think so, dear boy, because you have 
no personal experience of religion. When God 
opens your eyes and changes your heart, you 
will feel that the real joy and blessedness of a 
daily business is, that in it you may be serving 
God and advancing the kingdom of Christ.” 

John shrugged his shoulders and looked into 
his aunt’s steadfast eyes. He saw there infinite 
kindness and intense purpose. He inwardly 
rejected the kindness and resented the purpose. 

“And now it seems, aunt, all is in your hands. 
It is your turn now ; what are you going to do 
about it?” 

“ Just what I have thought should always be 
done : I shall run the business on Christian 
principles, for the good of my neighbor, the 
greater glory of God.” 

“And for our ruin,” said John between his 
teeth. 

“ For your highest good. I hope you two 
will soon see eye to eye with me, and joyfully 
work with me. You were disastrously harmed 
by this former method of conducting our family 
business, when it broke your grandmother’s 
heart, killed your grandfather with a typhus- 
fever contracted in his tenements, brought ma- 
lignant scarlet fever to burn out the life of your 


28 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


lovely young mother, and you two were nearly 
killed with diptheria brought from the same 
place. Now, please God, you may sow blessings 
with me and reap a large reward. Your father 
himself had begun to see the truth. See, here 
is the letter he wrote me the night before he 
died. He speaks of you two ; he commends you 
to my love and care ; he wants me to come here 
and talk over affairs, and see if we cannot work 
together on some common ground. He says 
he sees that he has fed on husks, and he longs 
for the satisfying bread of life. O children, 
words cannot tell you how I thank God for that 
letter, which gives me hope for my brother in 
his death. Read it you two, again and again, 
and let it draw us very near together.” 

The twins read the letter after their aunt 
left them. 

“I do n’t see much in it,” said John. “ Prob- 
ably he was not very well — he was struck next 
day it seems. It was night, he may have been 
lonely. There is nothing for us to do about the 
letter. Unfortunately we shall be obliged to 
submit to father’s wretched will, and must see 
Aunt Prudence at the head of the house, and 
running our business to destruction for the next 
six years, when at least we can handle our own 
yearly income. As we are twins, it seems by 
the will we both come of age when I am twenty- 


SEEDS OF FIRE, 


2g 


one. If we had any one to help us we could 
break the will, but Dysart is clearly on our 
aunt’s side. Well, I ’m going to bed ; maybe I 
can get asleep and forget all this horrible worry. 
Jean, tell Remeck to bring me a bottle of wine ; 
that always makes me sleep. We’re in for a 
fine time hereafter, I reckon.” 

Jean obediently found the butler and told 
him to take the wine to her brother’s room. 
Shut in her own room she read and re-read her 
father’s letter, then slept by snatches until the 
morning light was asserting itself in her closely 
shaded chamber. She pulled back the curtains. 
The clock said it was six ; the sunlight flooding 
the street declared broad day. The house was 
very still. Jean dressed and again felt drawn 
to the parlor with its silent occupant, to look at 
the face which that afternoon would be shut out 
of sight for ever. 

About the time when Jean drew back her 
curtain, a tall rough man stopped before the 
crape-scarfed door of the late Joshua P. Cardiff, 
and eyed the bowed black-ribboned shutters and 
the wide scarf on the bell. He was a lowering, 
discouraged-looking man, w-hose whole appear- 
ance suggested hard times : broken shoes, 
mended coarse soiled clothing, a felt hat, faded, 
shapeless, with holes worn through it here and 
there ; stubbly beard, eyes deeply sunken. A 


30 THE CARDIFF ESTA TF. 

broad forehead and a well shaped head hinted 
that if he had had his fair innings in life he 
might have reached some good share of success. 
He spoke hoarsely : “ So, Joseph Cardiff, death 
has got you at last, and all yer money could n’t 
keep it out. It come to this fine place as well as 
to the slums ; but it come to you fair an’ nat’ral, 
an’ nobody crowded it onto you, denyin’ of jus- 
tice an decency, an’ treatin’ you all the same as 
a brood of rats ! Well, you ’ve caught it now ; 
payin’ up for them two blessed bits of babies of 
mine that you murdered.” 

Then he ascended the steps and rang the 
door-bell somewhat briskly. A sleepy young 
servant man, who had at four o’clock taken the 
place of the watching butler, came to the door. 

“ I want to see Joshua Cardiff,” said the 
rough man. 

‘‘ He ’s dead.” 

“ I know it. That ’s why I want to see him. 
I want a last look ; he ai n’t buried. I ’ve 
knowed him for years : seen him weekly for his 
benefit. Now I’m after seein’ him for mine. 
You needn’t be scared, I’m not goin’ to prig 
any of yer fine things.” And so he shouldered 
his way past the servant and directly to the 
drawing-room door, which stood a little ajar 
behind the withdrawn portiere. The subdued 
splendor of the room, the heavy breath of the 


SEEDS OF FIRE, 


31 


heaps of flowers amazed him ; he pulled of his 
old felt hat and stood twisting it around. 

Must all ha’ cost a mint o’ money,” he said 
in his low, rough voice ; “ my little kids did n’t 
have any flowers, and a roughish pine box did 
for their little bodies ; and he ’s all done up in 
velvet and satin, an’ brass an’ silver !” He went 
closer to look upon the uncovered face. “ Em- 
balmed you, they call it, I s’pose,” he said ; “ all 
mighty flne, and the money you ground out of 
the poor paid for it. Curse you, I say, Joshua 
Cardiff, curse you for ever ! And if there ’s a 
God rulin’ high up above us both, I hope he 
hears it.” 

A low cry of anguish struck his ear. Was it 
the soul of the dead complaining, protesting? 
He started and looked over his shoulder. A 
slender girl in black, a girl pale as this dead 
man stood there, and their eyes met. “ Do n’t 
say it ! Do n’t ! It is too terrible. Why do you 
curse him ?” cried the girl. 

“ Because he was my enemy ; because he de- 
serves it ; because my heart is burning hot like 
coals, for he took away from me the only good, 
sweet, pretty comfort I ever had in my life, my 
only treasure that might have made a man of 
me some day. He murdered my two pretty 
babies — ah ! — ah ! — they ’d no flowers over their 
poor little thin bodies, no flne trimming ; noth- 


32 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


ing but their two little faded calico frocks, an’ 
so into a pine box and a rattlin’ wagon, and to 
the potter’s field ! He 's going to hav’ a fine bury- 
in’ an’ a big white stun monument, ain’t he?” 

Jean Cardiff was no coward ; she stepped 
nearer. Was this intruder mad or drunk? She 
did not think to call the servant who had stolen 
into the dining-room to refresh himself. 

'‘Stop!” she said; “he is dead, he cannot 
defend himself. Why did n’t you say it to him 
while he lived?” 

“ So I did, so I did ! And he laughed in my 
face. ‘I don’t care what you say, my man,’ 
says he, ‘ so long as you pay the rent.’ There 
it was, the rent, the rent I He lived on it ; we 
slum ones, we died of the dens he give us to rot 
in ! Do n’t God mean his air, an’ sunshine, an’ 
clear water for all he made, both man an’ beast ? 
An’ what right has any man to get rich, an’ deal 
in the beggary, an’ ignorance, an’ misery of 
other men ? To herd ’em in stalls not fit for 
cattle, where air is pison, an’ sun can’t shine, 
an’ water is pison, an’ the drains are clogged, 
an’ gutters reek filth, an’ mud an’ drainage 
creeps up over the floors; an’ summers is worse 
than winters, an’ winters is worse ag’in than 
summers, an’ fevers an’ diphtery an’ all kinds 
of plagues feed on us. That ’s what killed my 
pretty babies, all I had, me an’ Mandy Ann. 


SEEDS OF FIRE. 


S3 


We was too poor to go to better places; I was 
just out of four months hospital along of a 
broken hip, an’ into Joshua Cardiff’s den we had 
to go, as we was n’t allowed to lie in the street. 
He wouldn’t fix it to make the old windows 
lift, nor mend the drain, nor give us a hydrant, 
nor nothin’ for cleaners nor for health. ‘ If you 
do n’t like it, my man,’ says he, always speakin’ 
bitter, smooth and quiet, ‘ go somewhere else,’ 
he says, ‘ take it or leave it.’ So my two poor 
kids died of dipthery, an’ Mandy Ann got her 
turn in hospital along of typhoid.” 

“ But he ’s dead now,” wailed Jean. 

‘‘Aye — so it seems — but let me tell you, 
miss, bein’ dead do n’t end it. I ’ve heard that 
wise an’ rich people often claims that it does ; 
and throws overboard the hereafter. Let ’em — 
mebby they can afford to ; but we poor beggars 
can’t. There has to be a world to come, where 
things gets righted. Can such as he go swim- 
ming in gold an’ pleasure, an’ tramplin’ us in 
the mire, an’ murderin’ us, an’ never get no pay, 
an’ we never get no vengeance? No; ’t ain’t 
nat’ural ! ’T ai n’t so in this world — soon or late 
them as breaks law gets punished by law, an’ 
the next world, miss, what’s it like, only this 
puffed out bigger ? Now, miss, I ’m done, and 
I ’m going ; you need n’t ring no bells nor give 
no calls. I ’m goin’.” 

3 


34 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“Who are'^you?” gasped Jean. 

“I’m Sime Ridder, just a beggarly rat- 
catcher, a man that Joshua Cardiff an’ his kind 
didn’t give no chance in this life, nor regard 
more ’n rats ; but I ’m a man for all that, and 
has feelin’s, though I 'm a poor, mean, low-down 
lot;” and still twisting and tearing at his old 
felt hat and breathing hard, the man tramped 
out of the room, and Jean heard the servant dis- 
miss him. 

She had been eating of the tree of knowl- 
edge. It had been one thing to hear Aunt Jean 
state certain facts and assert criminality, while 
John pertly argued the contrary ; it was quite 
another thing to have this man’s hot words of 
rage and pain raining upon her soul like seeds 
of fire. In those few moments she had lived a 
mental life-time ; beside all the luxurious sur- 
roundings that had always been hers, food, fur- 
niture, a lordly dwelling, she saw damp cellars, 
cob webbed attics, dark, ill-odorous, where other 
people dwelt with rags and starvation for their 
heritage ; beside all the amusement which she 
and her twin had found, she saw hollow-eyed 
anguish, cold fear, bitter envy ; even beside this 
costly coffin, heaped with flowers, she saw that 
little bare pine box which received the dead 
children of the poor — small thin bodies, wrapped 
in patched and faded calico. 


SEEDS OF FIRE. 


35 

John would have answered to such a vision, 
“ ‘ Am I my brother’s keeper ?’ What affair is it 
of mine how the poor live and die ? I was born 
to the purple and to the gold spoon ; give me 
my birthright and leave me to enjoy it.” 

The girl had a nobler soul ; instinctively she 
felt that she was a part of the great unit-human- 
ity ; all these sufferers were her kin. She leaned 
over the coffin, and her soul, if not her lips, 
spoke to the dead. “ Father, you robbed others 
to make me rich ; perhaps you did not know 
what you were doing. You have called upon 
yourself hate, the curse of the poor, and your 
name is loathed. I will undo what you did. I 
will turn the curse into a blessing ; I will teach 
people to love your name ; I will spend my life 
building your monument in people’s hearts ; I 
will tell them that all this was what you had 
hoped to do, and left me to do for you. Do n’t 
hear that curse the poor man spoke over you, 
dear ; wait a while, and it will be turned into a 
blessing.” 

Then she walked slowly out of the room. 
She had changed : there was a strong purpose 
in her dark eyes ; her whole figure seemed knit 
and forceful ; the child in her had lain down in 
her father’s coffin, and a woman had arisen and 
taken up the work the man had all his life 
rejected. It was a terrible burden she had 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


36 

assumed, but in the sudden strength of the mo- 
ment she did not know it. For the first time 
she had an object in life, and it was great enough 
to evoke all the intensity of her character. 

She met her aunt, and went to her, holding 
out her hands. 

“ Aunt Prudence, I see it all ; I see all the 
wrong that has been done ; and this morning I 
have heard the cry of the poor and have seen 
their sufferings. You mean to try to undo this 
evil that the Cardiffs have done ; I am going to 
help you. I will work with you ; I will not live 
for myself, but for these poor who suffer so ter- 
ribly.” 

Miss Cardiff was not astonished at these 
words, for from the little boudoir where she had 
gone early to read and pray she had heard the 
fierce upbraiding of the rat-catcher. She had 
looked out and watched him as he went away, a 
big-boned, shambling man, with something liv- 
ing and stirring in the pockets of his loose coat, 
and as he went down the hall she had seen the 
sharp nose and the round, black eyes of a ferret, 
poked out to take observations, from each pocket 
flap. Jean had seen queer company that day, 
and the strangeness of the person, the fury of 
the speech, had been the means to work that 
arousement in the girl for which Miss Prudence 
had prayed. God answers some of our prayers 


SEEDS OF FIRE. 


sr 


very speedily, and for other some he keeps us 
long- in waiting ; why, we cannot tell. We will 
remember that Prudence Cardiff had been wait- 
ing over twenty years for this thing, and she 
was now past thirty-five years old. 

“ Jean,” she said, “ you are taking up a heavy 
charge.” 

“ I must do it ” — said Jean. “ Tell me, how 
does one get strength enough, and wisdom 
enough, and love enough, to persist after the 
first excitement has gone off ?” 

“ From God only, my child. The burden of 
other people’s sorrows and wrongs and sins 
would be so heavy it would crush us ; our pa- 
tience would fail ; our selfishness would call us 
back to ease and pleasure ; our ignorance would 
betray us into mistakes that would discourage 
us ; only God is sufficent for these things. We 
must first lay ourselves on his altar, and want 
to be used in his service.” 

Well, then, here I am,” said Jean firmly, 
“ let him take me and use me. What else is 
worth living for, if once you have seen all the 
horror of this misery ? Aunt, I cannot go back 
to living for my own amusement as I have, I 
should feel all the time as if I were dancing 
always over other people’s starved bodies and 
bleeding hearts.” 

Then Miss Cardiff understood that God had 




THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


wrought his miracle of transforming grace. Jean 
had had little of what people would call instruc- 
tion, no course of conviction and repentance ; if 
her soul had been illumined it had been by 
divinely directed flash-lights. God himself had 
put aside teachers, and had taken her affair in 
hand; and in an instant the currents of her 
being had been set from self, toward service in 
Christ’s name and strength. 

John slept late and was dull. Then the 
house became crowded with neighbors, friends, 
distant kin ; there was' no time for Jean to speak 
with her brother. Then the funeral ; the house 
service ; the long, slow procession to the ceme- 
tery, the carrying of the coffin into the vault, 
the heaping up of flowers ; the fatal door was 
locked, and the key handed to John. 

In that carriage where sat Aunt Prudence, 
Jean, John and Mr. Dysart, there had been tears, 
and for the rest silence. Jean and her aunt at 
least had noticed the big frame of Sime Ridder, 
accompanied by two or three men, evidently 
from the “ Cardiff Blocks,” grouped opposite the 
door of the vaults, and watching all proceedings 
with lowering faces and eyes of bitter hate. 
At last Joshua Cardiff was dead, and on the 
principle that a living dog is better than a dead 
lion, that difference between death and life 
seemed to give them some advantage. 


SEEDS OF FIRE. 


39 


How those people do intrude themselves 
everywhere," said John, getting a glimpse of 
them. “ Seem to think a funeral is a free show. 
Whyar’n’t they kept out?" Jean read them 
otherwise. This was the pursuit of hate. “ Have 
I found thee, oh mine enemy ?" 

At last they were at home : the door bell 
was untied ; guests were gone ; dinner had been 
served ; the currents of life seemed drifting 
back into their normal channel. Twilight came. 
John sighed and twisted. 

“ I say, Jean, what are we to do ? We can’t 
go any where or do anything. I can’t sound a 
note on my violin, or you on the piano, or it 
wont be good form. No one will come here, 
except a few old folks with long faces. If Aunt 
Prudence has a right to run the house and wants 
to do it, let her, and we will take ourselves off 
somewhere. Easy enough to get a chaperone, 
if we pay the bills. Let us go up to the Adiron- 
dacks, or the Thousand Islands, and camp until 
October. We ’ll be out from under this shadow 
and there wont be so much gloom expected of 
us?” 

“ I can’t, John," said Jean firmly. “ I am 
sick of living to amuse myself. I want to do 
something worth while. I mean to stay and 
help Aunt Prudence.’’ 

'‘Help her! What help does she want? 


40 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


Here are the butler, and housekeeper, and ser- 
vants : you have never meddled with this estab- 
lishment ; why begin now ?” 

“ I do n’t mean here. This house — why — 
I supposed it always ran itself some way.” 

Certainly it does ; anything will, money 
enough being supplied to keep steam up.” 

“ It was not the home I meant, but the two 
blocks in the slums, those terrible disease-and- 
misery-full tenement houses ! I am going to 
help Aunt Prudence better them.” 

What !” shouted John with sheer amaze. 
“ Has she talked you over, Jean ?” 

“ No,” said Jean squarely, “ she did not : God 
did it.” 

John’s eyes opened widely, his lower lip fell. 

“ Yes, I mean it. We are something to those 
people : people suffer ; they are sick and starved, 
they die ; women and little children and old 
grey-headed folks. We have no right to let it 
go on, and never try to help. I mean to help, 
I mean to live for other people. I am going to 
do what father would have done if he had lived 
longer. I shall make people love, not hate his 
name.” 

Are you crazy, J ean ? How do you know 
what father would have done ? What odds does 
it make when one is dead whether people love 
or hate your name ?” 


SEEDS OF FIRE. 


41 


“ Why, John Cardiff !” cried Jean, girl-like, 
coming down at once to the argumentum ad 
hominenty “ had n’t you rather, a thousand times 
rather, be George Washington or William the 
Silent, than Nero, or Caligula, or Benedict Ar- 
nold, though they are all dead ?” 

“ No,” said John flatly, “it would n’t make a 
bit of difference after I was dead, so I ’d had a 
good time all my life, and got all I could out of 
the world while I was living in it !” 

The girl turned pale, and tears filled her big 
eyes. “ Oh, John, I ’m so disappointed in you.” 
They were trite, common-place words, no doubt, 
but they were the real cry of a heart-break. 
This Egypt whereon she had leaned, was become 
a broken reed that pierced her hand. 

“Better drop all that folly, Jean, and come 
along with me in my way, for I certainly will 
not go yours,” said John calmly, settling himself 
comfortably in his chair. 

“ And I will walk this new way I have cho- 
sen until I die,” said Jean with firm resolution. 
“ The name of Cardiff is going to mean some- 
thing more than selfishness.” 

“Oh well, then, Jean, if you are going to 
play the ‘Abou Ben Adhem’ role, you and I wont 
agree so well as we have done, that ’s all,” said 
John, rising and pulling the bell-cord. “ Rem- 
eck! bring me a bottle of wine to my room.” 


42 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


And taking a novel from the table John marched 
up stairs with an elaborate assumption of cool- 
ness. 

Love for her twin brother tugged at Jean’s 
heartstrings. She and her John had never so 
seriously differed, for the simple reason that, as 
the least selfish of the pair, Jean had always 
yielded to John’s representations. 

As Aunt Prudence came in, she saw Jean’s 
dreary face and thought the shadow of that 
new-made grave was following over it in the 
summer twilight. “ My dear,” she said ; a whole 
world of sympathy was in her tone. Jean’s 
trouble broke forth. 

“ Aunt, I told John what I meant to do. I 
told him I had understood about the poor and 
miserable at last, and I meant to help, to try 
and make them love my father’s name. And 
John — John is angry, and doesn’t care for the 
poor. It is because he doesn’t see, aunt; he 
says it is none of our affair, and he has always 
said the poor are poor because they are poor, 
and don’t deserve anything better. What do 
John and I do to deserve better? When I shut 
my eyes and think back a little to that man that 
was here this morning, I know it is all true, and 
that wrong has been done, and our family have 
helped to do it. If John had heard, he might 
understand it so too, but he does not ; he says 


SEEDS OF EIRE. 


43 


such selfish, cruel things. They make me sick 
and angry — yet, he is John.’’ 

“Yes,” said Aunt Prudence quickly, “and we 
must have patience with John, and consider his 
age and his temptations, and how he has been 
brought up. The Bible says, ‘ He that careth 
not for his own house is worse than an infidel 
and in this higher spiritual sense, if we neglect 
John while we rescue others, we shall be wrong 
indeed. We must attract him to our work, and 
show him the sweetness of God’s service. Where 
we cannot drive we may persuade. You know 
that St. Paul says he was all things to all men 
that he might save some.” 

No ; Jean did not know it ; she had never 
read her Bible much, but here was Aunt Pru- 
dence quoting it as authority for every action. 

“ The Bible tells us that charity thinketh no 
evil, and is not easily provoked. While you 
lead this new life, Jean, you must only love 
John more and more, and try to help him in 
quiet, persuasive ways. Where is he now ?” 

“ Gone to his room ; and he has had a bottle 
of wine sent up, and one last night ; and, aunt, 
whenever things go crooked, he has a bottle of 
wine, and it may harm him.” 

When John called for a bottle of wine the 
next night, Remeck, the butler, said, “ There ’s 
none in the house, Mr. John. Miss Cardiff had 


44 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


it all sent this morning to the General Hospital 
as a gift to the sick, ‘from the late Joshua P. 
Cardiff.’ ” 

“ Well, she is carrying affairs with a high 
hand,” said John ; and the next day he went to 
Mr. Dysart and told him the city was intoler- 
able, and he must have two or three hundred 
dollars to go for a trip. 

“ Where to ?” asked Mr. Dysart. 

“Oh, well, Quebec.” 

“ Does Jean want to go ?” 

“No; Aunt Prudence has bamboozled her; 
she is doing the piety-charity act, or getting 
ready to.” 

“ What are you going to do with yourself as 
a man, John?” 

“ I have n’t thought of that, sir. I ’m most 
too young.” 

“ You are in your sixteenth year, and I think 
most men who are eventually successful decide 
by that time.” 

“I do n’t see as there is need of my being 
anything in particular. There will be plenty of 
money to live on, as I do n’t intend to gamble. 
That is, unless Aunt Prudence makes ducks and 
drakes of it.” 

“ Your aunt will be sure not to put her money 
into a bag with holes. There is that giveth and 
yet increaseth.” 


SEEDS OF FIRE. 


45 


“I’m afraid the property will stand a poor 
chance, sir. My aunt has bewitched Jean, and 
she has the philanthropy craze.” 

“I’m glad of it ; I like to see girls with an 
object, a noble object in life. They are healthier, 
happier, safer, longer-lived, better in themselves 
and more useful to the world for it. Do you 
wish to go through college, John ?” 

“ No, sir : I never was fond of study.” 

“ Business, then ?” 

“ What business, since the family business is 
usurped by Aunt Prudence?” 

“ If she were not in question, what then ?” 

“ Why, I ’d hire an agent and take it easy, 
living on my rents,” laughed John. 

“On the whole,” said Mr. Dysart, looking 
keenly at his hopeful ward, “ I think you had 
better travel for a couple of months, say to Que- 
bec, and take the Fall steamer through the Gulf 
of St. Lawrence to see the provisioning of the 
Gulf Lighthouse. You’ll see a phase of life 
serious and intense, John, and it may set you to 
thinking. I shall engage a young Scotchman 
of my acquaintance to go with you as tutor and 
companion ; you are too young to set off alone.” 
John whistled. 

“ That is, you are very young for your age. 
Your life has been too easy for you. Plenty of 
money and nothing to do has not developed very 


46 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE, 


strong moral fibre. I warned your father that 
you were coming up an idler, my boy.” 

“ I have n’t been to church much,” said John, 
shrugging his shoulders and scowling, “yet 
enough to hear the parson say that work was a 
curse pronounced for man’s sin.” 

“Yes; but given the fallen condition, the 
work is the most hopeful feature of our sur- 
roundings, and whoever is born into the world 
should feel that there is a debt due the earth for 
his maintenance. I cannot understand how the 
idler can feel truly manly. He that will not 
work, neither let him eat, rich or poor.” 

John was gone ; gone to show Jean his inde- 
pendence and teach her the dangers of resisting 
his will ; gone to get rid of his aunt ; gone to get 
rid of himself ; gone, taking his new tutor, Mr. 
Moultrie, grudgingly. 

“ Write to him often and lovingly, Jean, and 
he may come back in a more genial mind,” said 
Miss Cardiff. 

“ I used to write letters on the least excuse,” 
said Jean, “ but somehow now my eyes and head 
feel all drawn up when I look at anything. Tell 
me. Aunt Prudence, what are you and I going to 
do. I feel as if I wanted to spend all my time 
doing y 

“Yes, we can begin ; but you know, Jean, 
further education, school, must take most of your 


SEEDS OF FIRE. 


47 


time for two or three years. It is one of your 
chief duties to make use of all the self-improve- 
ment opportunities which God gives to you.” 

“ Oh, me ! I ’m afraid so, and that makes me 
feel all drawn up too. Let us talk about the 
other things.” 

“ Put off the evil and inevitable ?” smiled her 
aunt. “ Well, see here, Jean, the Scripture is, 
that he who builds a tower, or goes a journey, 
or makes a war, first sits down to count the cost. 
Let me tell you what we have to work on. I 
told you I had not felt it right to accept income 
gained, as I thought, unjustly. My share was 
paid into the bank and accumulated, and my in- 
tention had been to bestow it in the preparing 
of homes, buildings, where real homes were pos- 
sible, for the poor. Now that the Cardiff Rents 
are in my hands, the money can be used right 
there. See, so much a year, so many years; 
compound interest. Look, Jean, I have fifty 
thousand dollars in hand, and I divide it — so, so, 
so.” She jotted down in her clear, plain hand 
items and figures, and handed the sheet to Jean. 
Jean drew up her forehead and held the paper 
here, there, as if the work were microscopic. 

Miss Cardiff put her hand under the girl’s 
chin and looked anxiously into her eyes. 


48 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 

“To come to Jesus is thy part ; 

His part, to give thee rest.” 

“ What is the matter, Jean ? Can’t you see f' 

“ Why, yes, when I look about the room or 
out into the street; but close things make me 
feel so queer.” 

“ How queer?” 

“ Oh, all drawn up, and queer in my head and 
back of my eyes, and — sort of dizzy and sick.” 

“ For how long?” 

“I don’t remember — for some time — gradu- 
ally. I haven’t liked to look at things much 
since — oh, all winter, maybe ; and I had stopped 
reading and writing mostly, and made myself 
think. I liked to do other things better, you 
know.” 

‘‘ Do n’t look at that paper any more, dear. I 
will take you to the oculist early to-morrow.” 

“What for? This trouble will end some 
time.” 

“ All the sooner probably for being skilfully 
dealt with. Do n’t worry over it. We will see 
what is wrong and what is needed. It will be 


THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 


49 


pleasant for you to be able to read and study 
comfortably. You know, Jean, for this work you 
want to do for others you need a well-trained 
mind and a well-rounded education ; you need 
judgment, discretion, hard common sense, as 
well as tender sympathy. All that you can learn 
in every line, in history, chemistry, social science, 
political economy, can be put to excellent account 
in that best of all pursuits, philanthropy. Give 
God not only your best, but yourself, as your 
very highest possible.” 

“ Where- do you get all your ideas, your 
knowledge of religion?” asked Jean wistfully. 

“ From the Bible,” said her aunt promptly. 
'"‘Search the Scriptures daily’ should be the 
Christian’s orders for the day. The Bible is 
truly, as the Hebrew has it, ‘the man of his 
counsel the promise is, that having been gui- 
ded by His counsel, we shall afterwards be re- 
ceived into glory. ‘The Lord is wonderful in 
counsel.’ In fact, Jean, in all the events of my 
life, in daily business and in deep spiritual straits, 
I can always find direction, if I honestly apply 
myself to my Bible.” 

“ I suppose that must be so,” said Jean, “but 
I have scarcely read the Bible at all, and now 
when I try to read anything it distresses me so 
that I just drop it. This morning I read a little 
in that big Bible of my grandmother’s ; that was 
4 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


SO 

not quite so hard, but I did n’t know where to 
find things.” 

“ All that shows that we must get off to that 
oculist as fast as possible,” said Aunt Prudence 
quickly. “We will devote our morning to that 
affair.” 

“ But you ought to be going down to the 
Rents, and seeing what is needed there,” said 
Jean nervously. 

“ Everything is needed there, we can take 
that for granted,” said Miss Cardiff ; “ but my 
duty is first to do the thing that is nearest at 
hand. ‘ Doe the nyxt thynge,’ says the old 
Saxon proverb, and the eyes of my niece are the 
matter of first importance at present. You are 
my nearest charge.” 

The careful inspection of her eyes and the 
many questions of the oculist made Jean in- 
creasingly nervous. “ It is hard, my child, but 
it must be borne,” said the oculist. “ Tell me, 
have you had a heavy fall ?” 

“ Oh, no,” said Jean hastily. 

“ Well, now you must go to your family phy- 
sician, Dr. Imley, is he not? Take this letter 
along, and let us see what he says to you.” 
Aunt Prudence had gathered increasing gravity 
and anxiety from the grave face of the famous 
oculist, and neither she nor Jean said much 
until they entered Dr. Imley ’s private office. 


THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 


“ Let US have a good look at you, my little 
girl,” said the old family doctor; “bless me, 
how you young folks do grow ! Well, well, does 
that pressure hurt you? No? That’s good. 
Have you had a fall lately?” 

“No, of course not,” said Jean carelessly. 

“ No ? Where is John ? Let me see you read 
that page. Don’t spoil your beauty by drawing 
up your face in that way ! So you have not 
taken a big fall, let us say flat on your back ; 
you and John were always up to some mischief. 
Think now, no fall ?” 

“ What did I tell you ?” said Jean crossly. 

“ I want to know exactly how her eyes must 
be managed,” said Aunt Prudence ; “ Jean is 
growing up fast, and in September she should 
begin school.” 

“Quite impossible,” said Dr. Imley, return- 
ing to the letter Jean had brought. “Jean must 
not look at a book, nor write a page, nor sew a 
stitch for a year. You don’t mind giving up 
embroidery, Jean, eh ?” 

“I hate all fancy work,” said Jean; “but I 

did love to read, as long as it did n’t bother me 

_ _ >» « 

so. 

“ Then as her eyes must be spared in every 
way, I suppose it would be well to get a gover- 
ness who can carry on her education by reading 
to her and instructing her verbally — an accom- 


52 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


plished woman who could talk and explain 
well.” 

“ My dear lady, you mistake the trouble ; it 
is more of the head than of the eyes — spinal and 
cerebral irritation from some undiscovered cause. 
Though we do not know the cause, we see the 
effect ; clearly enough Jean’s education must be 
stopped — if ever it was really begun,” and the 
doctor smiled at Jean, whom he had known all 
her life. 

“ What can I do !” cried Jean. “ I cannot 
sleep all the time. It is very hard to sleep some- 
times, doctor ; I stay awake so ! And you know 
I cannot sit with my hands in my lap, I ’m not 
made that way.” 

“ No indeed, you are not made that way, and 
we don’t want you to try that way either,” said 
the old doctor ; “ we want you to interest your- 
self, amuse yourself ; the less you think about 
yourself the better, and the more you think 
about something interesting the better. Miss 
Cardiff, you were always a woman of resources, 
cannot you find Jean something to do that will 
keep her cheery, active, occupied, drawn out 
from herself ?” 

“ I am going to take up the -affair of the Car- 
diff Rents and their population,” said Miss Car- 
diff. “You know, doctor, the old story, and 
what I always wished should be done ; now there 


THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 


53 


is set before me an open door, and no man shall 
shut it.” 

The doctor was an elder of the church which 
Miss Prudence and her mother had joined in 
that long past revival ; he knew the olden “ case 
of conscience ” in the Cardiff household. His 
face brightened. “ You ’ll have a splendid oppor- 
tunity for work there, Miss Prudence, to make 
homes out of dens, and Christians out of repro- 
bates. Can’t you interest Jean in that?” 

“ She is interested ; she wants to work right 
along with me,” said Miss Cardiff ; “ but it 
seemed the first duty to carry on her educa- 
tion.” 

“Yes; but you see there stands an angel in 
the way — a disguised angel, one of God’s send- 
ing for all that. This will be an education in 
itself to Jean, and believe me. Miss Prudence, 
there is nothing so good for body and mind as a 
little getting out of ourselves and living in the 
lives of others. In this fashion some of God’s 
giants have been reared.” 

After they left the doctor’s office Jean leaned 
back in the carriage for a while, smiling a little 
at the notion of ever becoming one of the 
“ giants ” in any fashion. Then suddenly, “ Why 
aunt, if I cannot use my eyes at all for anything, 
how can I write to John, and what will John 
think ?” 


54 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


“ I ’ll write for you. I will begin to-day.” 

“ But what are you looking so grave about ?” 
Do those doctors think I am going blind?” 
There was a tremor in the girl’s voice. 

God forbid !” cried Miss Cardiff hastily ; 
“ they cannot quite understand the present state 
of your eyes, and some other symptoms puzzle 
them ; but they feel sure that time, rest, new in- 
terests and proper treatment, quiet and early 
hours chiefly, will restore you perfectly.’' 

“The world was much better off when 
Christ was living in it,” said Jean dreamily. 
“ I think I ’ve heard how sick or blind people 
went to him and he cured them at once fully. 
Wasn’t there something like that? I wish he 
were back again living among men.” 

“We will bring him back for some part of 
this city, I hope, in the persons of two of his 
people following in his steps, and doing as they 
would be done by,” said Miss Cardiff. 

“ Where are we going, aunt ? I never saw 
this part of the city before,” cried Jean looking 
out of the carriage window. 

“To the Cardiff Rents to begin our work. 
Dr. Imley said he thought there would be no 
danger of any infection for you ; we will be 
careful. Louis, when you are near the Rents I 
want you to go slowly ; I have some inquiries to 
make.” 


THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. jj 

Louis the coachman seemed to think the sug- 
gestion superfluous ; he could not possibly drive 
rapidly in these narrow encumbered streets— 
ash-barrels, garbage-boxes, upturned truck-carts, 
broken furniture, forlorn heaps marking a recent 
ejectment, little groups of squalid ragged wom- 
en, venders of small wares sitting huddled on 
curbstones, squads of dirty, tattered, half-naked 
children, flanked by the inevitable little lean 
girls twisted side-wise carrying babies. Door- 
steps broken, windows shattered, doors and shut- 
ters hanging by one hinge, or gone entirely, 
rough calls and cries, strong odors, these were 
new assailants of Jean’s dainty senses. 

Jean was one of those girls who naturally 
love children ; babies and little toddling wee 
ones ” had been her delight among the families 
of her friends. She had been popular with 
them, but they had been like herself the off- 
spring of luxury, exquisitely tended, pampered, 
waited upon. These other children moved her 
heart. 

“ Oh, aunt ! What children ! How many of 
them, and how horribly wretched ! Just as that 
rat-man said, ‘lean bodies in ragged calico.’ 
Look at that one with his head tied up in such a 
dirty rag ! See those two cripples, and there ’s 
a hunchback, and there ’s a little girl with such 
sore eyes she can scarcely see. Oh, I pity her ! 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


5^ 

Do notice that fat, curly, dirty, handsome child 
playing right in the mud of that gutter ! Wont 
it make him sick ? Can’t something be done for 
the children ? All my money shall go for them, 
poor little things ! Aunt, what money will I 
have to spend ? I have always gone to my father 
for what I wanted.” 

“You will have an income much beyond 
your needs, Jean, plenty to do good with. 
Louis, stop at that corner below the Rents. I 
think I see a coffee-stand there, stop by that.” 

As the carriage drew up by the curb, Jean 
impulsively flung open the door and sprang out, 
her pocket book in her hand ; here was misery, 
and to give, to give aimlessly, blindly, was her 
first thought. An attenuated child-mother car- 
rying a baby stood nearest, and a two-dollar bill 
thrust into her dirty hand caused her to scurry 
off as fast as possible lest the extraordinary gift 
should be recalled. 

“ Gimme one !” bawled a boy, and a silver 
quarter was received as a highwayman’s booty. 
Dimes, nickles, coppers, half dollars, and a dol- 
lar bill to a cripple followed; then the coffee- 
stall man perceived what was going on and in- 
terfered. “Lady, lady, what are you doing? 
If you want to help those kids you ’ll not shower 
money on them in that fashion, it will be sure 
to get them into trouble. Their parents will 


THE MASTER CALLETH THEE, y/ 

hear of it and beat the children for not bringing 
it to them ; and if they do give it to them it 
will be spent for whiskey, and then they will 
beat the children along of drunkenness! Oh, 
you are doing harm enough, dealing out money 
here. Every one of those children is hungry ; 
better bring them to my stall and give them all 
a good meal. That would be charity judiciously 
bestowed.” Thus the coffee-stall man spoke two 
words for himself and one for the children, 
while Jean gazed astonished at the new light 
let in on charity as a profession, but not as her 
aunt, astonished at the style of the man’s con- 
versation. 

“ What ought I to do ?” said Jean, regarding 
three dollars in the depths of her purse, the 
remaining seven having been distributed. 

Just let me call ’em for you, miss. I know 
the lot of them. Come back, Amy. The lady 
wont take your money away. It is safe to let 
Amy have money, her mother is decent. How 
much are you willing to lay out on breakfasts. 
Miss? Or call it dinners, as it is eleven o’clock.” 

Jean held out three dollars. Whew ! they ’ll 
think an angel has come down. What is it? 
Yes, I remember how it reads : ‘ The gods are 
come down to us in the likeness of men.’ Three 
dollars will feed fifteen real full. I ’ll make 
it twenty. I like to have a hand in charity 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


myself. The sick ones and cripples, the poorest, 
and the baby - tenders ; you observe, miss, I 
know how to pick them out, being as you may 
say ‘to the manner born,’ not absolutely, but 
twenty years’ enduring of the manner makes 
me, as may be believed, almost native. Amy, 
Sandy, Jim, you Totty twins, come and take 
seats at my stall ; the lady is asking you to 
breakfast. Pete, get out, you ’re well fed ; the 
grog sellers’ families never lack. Tom, I did n’t 
call you, you ’re big enough to work, but your ’re 
too lazy ; here you little shaves, let me lift you 
up,” and thus the coffee-stall man sorted out his 
crowd, while Jean, a pale patrician in her black 
garb, looked wonderingly on. Louis sat uneasy 
and contemptuous on his box, and Aunt Pru- 
dence silently watched her niece’s initiation 
into the ways of philanthropy. 

The twenty guests were crowded about the 
counter, and Jean marvelled at the eager joy 
on the little faces; marvelled at seeing food, 
simple, common food a cause for such joy ; mar- 
velled that anyone could drink from such tin 
cups, eat from such tin plates, with such dread- 
ful rusty dark knives and forks ; marvelled that 
such queerly smelling coffee, such blue milk 
were drinkable ; that such bread and cold meat, 
and hard-boiled eggs and dingy dough-nuts 
were eatable. 


THE MASTER CALLETH THEE, jp 

The coffee-stall keeper and his assistant 
served the crowd with celerity, and as the eager 
eating and drinking went on, the man nodded 
at Jean again and again, saying cheerily, “Oh, 
you ’re getting the worth of your money this 
time. Don’t they enjoy it ! Well, I wont stint 
them ; here ’s a mug of milk for your baby, 
Amy ; here, twins, you may have all the bread 
you want. More coffee, Totty? More dough- 
nuts, Sandy? Here you go, eat heartily, the 
lady pays— a good meal is as pleasant as a good 
conscience, the poet says, if I ’m not mistaken.” 

Finally the board was cleared, the children 
for once were satisfied, and scattered to report 
the wonders which had befallen them. Jean 
stepped back into the carriage, her face alight 
with pleasure. 

Miss Prudence beckoned the stall-keeper. 
“ May I ask your name ?” 

“ Rufus Hapgood, Esquire — now fallen to 
this low estate, but once a scholar and a gentle- 
man, ‘Oh thou invisible spirit of wine,’ that 
explains it.” 

“ Mr. Hapgood, can you give me any infor- 
mation about the Cardiff Rents ?” 

“ Madame, nothing good enough for a lady’s 
hearing. I should be sorry to have those Rents 
come between the wind and your nobility.” 

“ They are bad then ?” 


6o THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

“ Bad ? Madame, the worst in town. They 
are not even within the poor limits of the law ; 
the owner being very rich and the tenants very 
poor, why the weakest goes to the wall. Bad, 
madame, I transgress a rule in speaking so, for 
Mr. Cardiff is dead, and demortuis nil nisi honum,'' 

“ Are the Rents full.” 

“ Nearly so, of the poorest and most hope- 
less. I have few patrons from the Rents, ex- 
cept Sime Ridder, who is an humble friend of 
mine, and a man of parts — though unfortunate ; 
also Peter Tess.” 

“ The Rents are a large property ; are there 
any houses in this neighborhood empty ?” 

“ There 's the Gridley property ; was used for 
storage until folks dare n’t store down here ; and 
as old Mr. Gridley could not fix it up, or would 
not, why it has stood closed for these nine 
months.” 

“ Would it hold as many as the Rents?” 

“ No ; about one-fourth as many.” 

“ Is there any room or place of gathering 
about here that would hold a good many peo- 
ple?” 

Rufus Hapgood shook his head. 

“The fact is,” said the lady, “that I have 
come down here to see what is the real condi- 
tion of the Cardiff Rents.” 

“ Madame, take it on my affidavit, a pest- 


THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 6/ 

house and a lair of misery — a slum in every 
sense of the word. I know some ladies have a 
curiosity about these things ; but, madame, do n’t 
look closer at Cardiff Rents. 

“ ‘ Famine is in its cheeks, 

Need and oppression stareth in its eyes, 

Contempt and beggary hang upon its back. ' 

I am only a coffee-stall keeper now, but my soul 
is above the level of my surroundings, and I 
study my Shakspeare.” 

‘‘The question is not of curiosity, but of 
duty. I am Miss Cardiff, the young lady is also 
Miss Cardiff, and we are come down here to see 
what can be done, what ought to be done, to 
make homes of the Rents.” 

“ Madame, what ought and what can, do not 
go together here. The wrong is beyond any 
righting.” 

“ The ought and the can must be yoked, and 
the wrong shall be righted.” 

“ The only way to convince you will be to 
go and see, madame ; this reminds me of the 
story in a Book that I read less than Shakspeare. 
The Lord said of Sodom, ‘ I will go down now, 
and see whether they have done altogether 
according to the cry of it, and if not, I will 
know.’ The Lord went down and found it was 
all bad, that only a rain of fire from heaven 
could right affairs by burning all up. It will be 


62 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


SO with the Rents, madame. I 've often thought 
it would be a good plan for the lightning to 
strike it.” 

“ This is not the age of fire, but of gospel 
charity,” said Miss Cardiff, with Christ some 
good thing came into the world, even for Car- 
diff Rents.” 

“ It has been long reaching its destination,” 
said Rufus Hapgood below his breath. As he 
had talked to Miss Prudence, the coachman, out 
of sight of the ladies, had forgotten his decorum, 
had turned and scrutinized Hapgood keenly. 
Hapgood had noticed it, returned the scrutiny, 
and his face had flushed a little, but he put on 
a jaunty air, and as the carriage prepared to 
move on he said lightly and with an upward 
fling of his head, “ Oh, Louis, is that you ?” and 
turned away. Then looking after the carriage 
he said, “Well! lightning is going to strike 
Cardiff Rents, after all !” 

The arrival of a handsome carriage and pair, 
with a coachman in livery, before a door in the 
Cardiff Rents, caused greater sensation than 
affairs so common there as a stabbing affray, an 
arrest, or a suicide. From doors and windows 
leaned towzled, bandaged heads, scrawny brown 
necks, faces red and swollen from drink, pinched 
and bleached by foul air and famine ; gaunt, 
hopeless, hollow-eyed misery and despair. 


THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 63 

“ There are fifty families in this house, and 
forty in the other, and thirty-two in the one in 
the rear of these, besides lodgers,’’ said Miss 
Cardiff ; “ it is our duty to see the real facts in 
this case. Dare you try it with me, Jean?” for 
Jean had turned a little pale already at what she 
saw. 

'‘Yes, I dare,” said the girl firmly : perhaps 
her courage was re-in forced by the appearance 
of the usually absent policeman, whom the sight 
of a carriage had summoned to duty. Then 
Louis opened the carriage door. Miss Prudence 
and Jean crossed the nearest threshold of Car- 
diff Rents and plunged into the bitter sea. 

The day was hot, and along the one fire- 
escape that did duty for two great houses, wo- 
men sat holding puny, sick babies, to try and 
catch a breath of air. On the floors of some 
of the rooms lay men and women, drunk and 
asleep. Two great rooms on the first floor were 
those deepest depths, lodging-rooms, along the 
walls of which stood beds without any pretence 
of covers, ropes holding ragged, squalid cloth- 
ing ; one broken stove, one bench, and one table 
doing duty for five families, men, women, and 
children. Ash barrels full of refuse stood on 
the landings, vermin scuttled about the broken 
stairs, three windowless attics were let to lads 
who lived as street gamins, by what they could 


64 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


pick up of work or stealing; the drains over- 
flowed into the basements, where the floors were 
nearly rotted away, yet which were rented to 
human beings; pestilential oders reeked through 
the whole building. An old, neglected woman 
lay, apparently dying, in one room, and a wan 
mother had in her skinny arms a pair of twins 
who were sucking bottles filled only with im- 
pure water. 

Miss Cardiff and Jean fairly staggered back 
to the street : they were giddy and sick with the 
atmosphere which their fellow-citizens breathed 
day and night ! Miss Prudence told Jean to sit 
in the carriage while she herself went away for 
a few moments. She then made haste to the 
nearest street where she could find a dispen- 
sary, and telephoned for a hospital ambulance 
to come and remove the sick woman : then call- 
ing a cab she returned to the place where Jean 
waited, and going to the mother with the twins 
she said, “ If you will come with me in this cab, 
I will take you where you and the babies will be 
well fed and clothed and made comfortable.” 

“What for?” said the woman drearily. She 
was young, but hopeless. 

“ Because I want to help you, and I love 
little babies, and cannot bear to see them suffer. 
Come, you will be glad when you find how nice 
a place it is. ’ 








THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 63 

“ Well,” said the woman listlessly : she had 
nothing to leave, no one to bid good-by ; noth- 
ing could be worse than this that she was suf- 
fering. She did not stipulate for return. What 
was there to woo to a return ? 

Miss Cardiff had long been a contributor to a 
“ Home for Women and Children,” a quiet little 
refuge for those who were worsted in life ; she 
knew her name would open its doors and se- 
cure its cares for this wretched mother and her 
twins. At the first decent dairy fresh bottles 
of milk were secured for the ravenous babes, 
who fed on sterilized milk from clean bottles 
for the first time in their lives. 

Meantime Louis had driven home with Jean. 
As Jean left the carriage she said, Louis, did 
you know that cofiee-stall man ?” 

“Yes, Miss Jean; I was coachman for his 
uncle when that one was a young man at 
college. I mind he went wild and was ex- 
pelled.” 

“ What did you do with that poor woman ?” 
Jean asked her aunt, as soon as she had returned 
home. 

“ I waited until she and her babes were well 
washed, combed, clothed, fed, and put to bed. I 
dare say it was the first comfort any of the three 
had ever known. Then as there were three 
vacancies at the Home, and two at their Sea- 
5 


66 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


Side Cottage, I sent a nurse down to the Rents 
to find five children to fill them, and so came 
home.” 

“ It seems a good deal — and yet it is so little, 
aunt,” compared with that terrible place ! What 
are you going to do ? What can you do ?” 

“ I shall secure the proper kind of man as 
my agent to help me ; I shall lease those empty 
houses, and have them whitewashed inside, and 
disinfected. Then I shall get all the Cardiff 
Rents people together, in the street probably, 
tell them that all rent dues up to date are can- 
celled, and that I will pay for their removal into 
these other better buildings on no higher rents 
than they have been paying. I will have it seen 
to that the most decent families get the most 
decent rooms, and I will dismiss several of the 
most violent and objectionable altogether. When 
the Rents are emptied I shall have a free field 
for improvements and repairs, and shall carry 
them on as fast and as thoroughly as possible. 
Meanwhile my agents and a couple of good sen- 
sible Bible Nurses whom I shall employ, will 
be trying to encourage the people and raise 
them toward the level of the renovated build- 
ings.” 

“ And what will that level be ?” 

“ Door-bells and bay-windows,” laughed Miss 
Prudence. 


THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 67 

“ What, aunt ? I know you mean something 
under those words.” 

“ Yes, I do. ‘ Door-bells ’ stands for those 
possibilities of private family life which admit 
of decency and modesty — forbidding four or 
five families in one room, or a family of all ages 
with boarders in two rooms. 'Bay windows ’ is 
another word symbolically used, for possibilities 
of order, neatness, attractiveness, homes advan- 
cing to the line of beauty, with possibilities of 
refined, cheerful life — homes for humanity, not 
lairs and dens for beasts.” 

Can it ever be done ?” asked Jean. 

" This is one of the cases where money — 
with a good intent behind it— ‘ answereth all 
things it can be done.” 

That night Jean could not sleep. She was 
haunted by what she had heard and seen during 
the day. Finally she rose and went to her aunt's 
room. 

Aunt Prudence, are you awake ? I cannot 
sleep ; I keep thinking of what that coffee-seller 
said about those children, that their parents 
would take the money I gave them away and 
get drunk and abuse the poor little things, or 
would beat them for not giving them the money. 
I have done more harm than good.” 

‘‘ My dear Jean, you must consider that the 
man spoke partly in his own interest, as a stall- 


68 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


keeper ; also he only stated what might be. None 
of these evil things may have happened. You 
acted kindly on a good impulse, and greater 
judgment will come to you with greater expe- 
rience. One of the most necessary things to re- 
member, my child, is, that it is not given to us 
to do our work and also to bear our burdens. 
We are commended to do the work, but to cast 
the burdens on One able and willing to carry 
them. Lay that burden of yours for the little 
children on One who loves the little children. 

“ Do you mean I can ask God to take all my 
troubles, and straighten out all my mistakes?” 

“ Exactly that.” 

A weak later as Jean and her aunt were at 
their six o’clock dinner, there was a swift rush 
down the hall, and in burst John. He caught 
his sister in his arms, pulling her from her chair. 

What is this about your eyes, girl ! Some- 
thing gone wrong with you, Jean? Where is 
that doctor? I ’m going to see him! You did 
have a fall. I’ll tell him of it — off Jade, up in 
the country, last November.” 

“Why, John, what are you back for!” 

“For you! Could I stay away and things 
gone wrong with you, Jean ? I came as soon as 
I read aunt’s letter.” 


LIFE MORE ABUNDANTLY, 


69 


CHAPTER IV. 

LIFE MORE ABUNDANTLY. 

“ He looked upon my crown and smiled ; 

He reached the glory of a hand 
That seemed to touch it into leaf ; 

The voice was not the voice of grief ; 

The words were hard to understand.” 

That her nephew, John, evidently did not 
love her had not made any difference in Miss 
Prudence loving him. Love is a plant that 
groweth down before it g^oweth up : from God 
to man, from parent to child, from high to lower, 
from old to young. When Miss Prudence be- 
held John’s swift return and his eager attention 
to his twin sister, she was greatly comforted. 

He is not so hard as I thought him,” she said. 
“ Plenty of heart there.” 

“ Why did n’t you tell them what had hurt 
you, Jeanf” cried John. ''It was that tumble 
off the roan mare in the country last fall. You 
fell flat, and it knocked the breath out of you. 
It was all my fault ; I ’m always getting you into 
some scrape, confound me !” 

I forgot all about that fall when they first 
asked me, and when I finally remembered I let 
it go. It could not make any difference in what 


70 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


was the matter knowing how it came ; and I 'd 
promised you not to tell.” 

“ I ’ll tell : I ’m going to your doctor’s to- 
morrow, and I ’ll promise them all I have, every 
cent of my fortune, if they ’ll cure you.” 

“ Dear boy, do n’t fret ; they ’ll cure me for 
the sake of cure, if I ’m curable, and I ’m sure 
that I am.” 

For a day or two John hung solicitously about 
Jean, then seeing no apparent change in her 
eyes, he pooh-poohed the whole affair as ‘‘ a scare 
of the doctors to get money out of rich people 
for John’s money was to him ever-present and 
all-powerful. 

“ All the same,” said John, “ there ’s one good 
in this nonsense — you do n’t have to study or do 
anything but amuse yourself, and so we ’ll go in 
for that ; whereupon he planned a constant rush 
of “ fun,” for most of which Jean seemed sud- 
denly to have no taste. Life had revealed itself 
to her on its sober side of delve and toil among 
briars and thistles, and she had lost interest in 
John’s dashing race after butterflies. 

“Yes, indeed, John, I ’ll ride horseback with 
you every day, and we ’ll go rowing too now and 
then, if you like ; but you see I have something 
to do — something I want to do and must do. 
I 'm going to work with Aunt Patience among 
the people in Cardiff Rents.” 


LIFE MORE AB UNDANTL Y. 71 

Led off in that humbug yet, are you ! I 
mean, to build palaces for paupers and give ’em 
rent free ?” 

“No, John,” said Aunt Prudence. “All I 
want is homes for human beings — homes suited 
to their work and to their human needs, and 
given to them at a fair price. If they had homes 
rent free they would value them less, no doubt, 
and in many cases the money saved out of rent 
would go to the grog-shop, not to the betterment 
of the family. I merely claim that a man has no 
right to condemn his brother-men to exist in a 
kennel, and that handling a tenement so as to 
make twenty-five to eighty per cent, on an in- 
vestment out of the miseries of the poor, is the 
worst kind of usury ; and usury is forbidden in 
the Bible.” 

“I’m perfectly willing to make a thousand 
per cent, on an investment,” said John in a lordly 
way. “No amount of money is too much for 
me. I ’d find ways enough to spend it.” 

“ In buying coach and horses to take you to- 
ward an early grave at the rate of a mile a min- 
ute,” said Mr. Moultrie. 

“ Tut ! I ’m going to live to ninety. I do n’t 
mean to kill myself with work, as my father and 
grandfather did. And I sha’n’t haunt dens to 
contract contagious diseases, as Aunt Prudence 
means to do.” 


72 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

“No, I shall abolish the dens and the dis- 
eases,” said his aunt. “John, you’ve no idea 
how wonderfully interesting it all is ; such cute 
children, so many to help, so easy to make folks 
happy on a little ! Why, it is just like the most 
splendid story-book ; like writing the story-book 
yourself, and bringing out the end the way you 
want it !” 

“ Oh, if you enjoy this communistic brother- 
hood fad, some people couldn’t.” 

John looked vexed and turned the theme. 

“The trouble with you. Aunt Prudence, in 
your charity work is, you ’ll want to bring your 
religion into it.” 

“ Of course I shall. The Master I serve is so 
kind, his yoke so easy, that it would seem to me 
the very grossest selfishness not to make him 
known to others. Besides, I do not know of any 
real brotherhood among men that does not spring 
out of the fatherhood of God. I do not aspire to 
the Walking Delegate Brotherhood, that receives 
a big salary for telling poor men of their wrongs, 
but never really helps them with a single finger.” 

“ All the same, crowding religion upon them 
for the sake of better lodgings than the money 
will fetch elsewhere is a shabby trick — paying 
for converts. That is the only way the church 
gets converts, any how. I suppose. Aunt Pru- 
dence, you are incorrigible; but I expect Jean 


LIFE MORE ABUNDANTL Y. yj 

to get sick of this notion and come back to my 
views of things, just as she always has. I know 
she ’ll get sick of consorting with degraded 
folks.” 

'‘They will not be degraded, John, when 
they inhabit decent homes, ruled by the spirit 
of Christianity. I know that Christianity and 
degradation are not yoked together. My Mas- 
ter’s service is honorable.” 

John shrugged his shoulders as his aunt 
spoke. 

“ He is my Master too,” said Jean in a low, 
firm tone, looking across at her brother with an 
expression he had never before seen in her dark 
eyes. A deep red spot burned in each cheek 
and her lips trembled. This confession had not 
been easy to Jean ; she had never before so 
arrayed herself against her brother. 

“ ‘Also I say unto you. Whosoever shall con- 
fess me before men, him shall the Son of Man 
also confess before the angels of God,’ ” said Mr. 
Moultrie in a low tone. 

John was silent ; even his carping spirit felt 
the nobility of his sister’s attitude — and even the 
heathen of this nineteenth century have heard 
of a great white throne, a day of final assize, 
and a cloud of immortal witnesses. The pre- 
sentment is an impressive one even to those 
who do not believe in its reality. 


74 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


To be divided from her twin was heart- 
breaking to Jean ; she wanted still to make for 
much in his life, and feared lest parted from her 
company he might go far into evils which she 
only vaguely apprehended. John however was 
sulky and avoided his sister. He emphasized 
the differences between them — the theatre, dime 
museums, music halls — he swept far away from 
even the small proprieties of life. 

You know,” said Jean, “I could not go to 
such places with you ; Aunt Prudence and Mr. 
Dysart would not allow me.” 

“ I go there because you abandon me,” said 
John. 

Well, stop going there and ask me to some 
nice place.” 

“ No ; I do n’t care for a change ; you deserted 
me ; that is your style of Christianity.” 

“ But, John, come try my way, just for a little, 
dear boy.” 

That is just like your religious selfishness — 
your way. No, I tell you ; do my way or let me 
alone.” 

^'That is not selfishness at all, I suppose,” 
said Mr. Moultrie aside to Miss Prudence. 

Jean’s heart was sore enough over her 
brother, but her experiences and knowledge 
were too small to show her all the cause there 
was for fear. • There was Mr. Moultrie, he and 


. LIFE MORE ABUNDANTLY. 75 

Mr. Dysart would see that John did not go far 
astray. 

Mr. Moultrie’s position was a sinecure as for 
John, who would not study, and constantly es- 
caped the company of his so-called tutor. 

“ I must earn my salary some way,” said Mr. 
Moultrie to Miss Prudence ; “let me take hold 
of your work. I know more of it than you im- 
agine. My first recollections are of orphanage 
in a tenement-house ; from that to newsboy, then 
rescue by a good man, education by his means. 
When I go with you to the Rents it is to work 
for my own.” 

“ I would n’t tell it,” sneered John. 

“ Why not ? I am a trophy of philanthropy, 
the philanthrophy inspired by Jesus Christ.” 

As John steadfastly withdrew himself from 
her and otherwise gave her the heartache, Jean 
found her consolation in her new duties. She 
went with renewed zeal to the work she had 
chosen. 

Aunt Prudence had not taken Jean back to 
the Rents. “ Bide a wee,” she said, “ until I 
have disinfected the houses I have rented and 
have moved the people to them.” 

Jean and her aunt had planned however a 
work for the girl’s own. Jean had gone one 
morning to Rufus Hapgood’s coffee-stall. “ I 
want you to help me, Mr. Hapgood.” 


76 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


Madame, you honor me immensely.” 

“ I want you to find a tolerably decent down- 
stairs room, or two of them, and find some one 
to clean the place and have it painted and pa- 
pered. I want you to get men who are out of 
work to do the work. I Ve been reading a little 
magazine that tells how men are out of employ- 
ment ; so hiring them will help.” 

So it will. Miss. But what are you going 
to do with the rooms ?” 

Have a kindergarten, a kind of baby play- 
school ; but my kindergarten is going to take in 
the girls like Amy that take care of babies, and 
they can be taught to sew. Mine is going to be 
a plain kind of a kindergarten and useful things 
will be taught. And, Mr. Hapgood, I mean to 
have lunch given at this kindergarten, soup and 
bread, mush and molasses, bread and milk, in 
turn, each day. Aunt Prudence told me what 
to have, and you can furnish it, Mr. Hapgood, if 
you ’ll be sure and have it clean — and — well, a 
fair price, fair to us both, you see.” 

“ I see, and you ’ll be satisfied. Why, Miss, 
let me tell you. There ’s some good in me, and 
the case of the children here has been kind of 
tugging at my heart. I felt as if I ’d get back 
some of my lost manhood if I had a work for 
them to do. And it seems strange to me that 
the Cardiff name, that has been for years a kind 


LIFE MORE ABUNDANTL F. 77 

of vampire over this ward, is now going to stand 
for helping. Miss, if you could afford it to have 
a little room extra, with water laid on and a 
couple of tubs so the kids could get washed 
reg’lar ; and if you could afford a couple of 
check aprons apiece for the children to keep 
clean in while they were at the place, why the 
comfort and the decency would be amazing. 
And you ’d want a motherly body to see the 
rooms were kept clean and aired and warmed in 
winter, and the children washed and the aprons 
done up.” 

Yes,” said Jean slowly ; she had just begun 
to consider dollars and cents. “ Would it cost a 
great deal to get a woman like that ?” 

“ Why there was Amy round here crying for 
all she was worth this morning about her mo- 
ther ; she and Sandy’s mother are the decentest 
folk about here. Amy’s mother’s eyes have given 
out, so she can’t do her button-holes neat, and 
she got the bounce — beg pardon. Miss — and this 
place would be the making of her, and she ’d be 
thankful for the four dollars a week she made at 
the button-holing.” 

‘'Only four! that isn’t much,” said Jean 
quite elate ; she had often spent four dollars a 
week for candy. 

“ Maybe it is not much to you but it ’s oceans 
to her ; it is the difference between starving and 


78 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

living. Well, Miss, I ’ll hunt up the room and 
the men to put it in order, and speak to Widow 
Lark right off.” 

“ Mr. Moultrie will come down this evening 
and get the prices for the room and the doing 
up and the dinners and all,” said Jean, ^‘and 
he’ll look at the rooms.” 

Rufus Hapgood’s eyes twinkled. He had 
not meant to do other than honest business in 
this affair, but if he had, Jean was not a girl to 
be cheated, she was developing the Cardiff 
shrewdness in money matters; developing it 
unconsciously ; it was the inner nature coming 
to the surface at the call of need. 

“ Your aunt — and you. Miss, are beginning 
great things here. The Cardiff Rents people 
may be thankful. Things had got to the 
worst possible, but now there ’s some hope. 
‘Who knoweth whether thou art come to the 
kingdom for such a time as this ?’ as the other 
Book says.” 

“ Yes? I do n’t recall it,” said, Jean, and as a 
crowd of children had recognized Lady Bounti- 
ful and gathered about, she turned and began 
distributing animal-crackers and mint -drops. 
Not that her attention was all absorbed in the 
children. She heard a shuffling heavy tread, 
and Hapgood said, “ Hillo, Sime, how ’s your 
missus ?” 


LIFE MORE ABUNDANTL Y. yg 

'' She ’ll be back from hospital to-morrow. 
It 's over full an’ they can’t keep ’em over two 
weeks, though ‘ Mandy Ann ai n’t no ways 
strong.” 

How ’s the little one ?” 

“ Dreadful lean weakly little kid. It ’ll go 
just like the other ones. I do n’t allow to set 
store by it, seeing it is bound to drop away. 
But ’Mandy Ann’s set on the feeble little an- 
atomy, I can see.” 

‘‘ They ’ll both have a better chance now 
you ’re to be moved into that clean room Miss 
Cardiff told me she had picked out for you. She 
looks for you to be a kind of janitor, off times, 
to keep order there, and I promised her I ’d move 
in too, and take a hand in helping. Queer, ai n’t 
it ! them poor souls on the Rents can’t believe but 
there 's some trick in it all, and they ’re so used 
to cussedness they can’t understand goodness.” 

Yes, they stick to yon vile dens like rats 
to their holes,” said Sime Ridder ; “we ’ll just 
have to argify to budge ’em. But I fear it is n’t 
the clean room will save ’Mandy and the little 
one. Says the nurse up at the Maternity to me, 
Sunday, ‘ Can’t you send her out to the country 
for a couple or three months, my man? She 
and the little one would pick up rarely ! The 
country ! Land sakes ! Who ’d take ’em, and 
where ’d they go, and where ’s the money ? I 


8o THE CARDIFF ESTA TE, 

can’t seem to get ahead. Miss Cardiff’s been 
giving me work at those houses she ’s fixed to 
move the folks into, and I ’ve bought a bed, and 
chairs, and a little stove, and some other things, 
so poor ’Mandy Ann and the little one can die 
decent. I don’t look for ’em to live long.” 

Jean dropped her empty paper bags and 
turned. 

“ Have you a new little baby, Mr. Ridder ? 
I am glad of that, you will be very happy to 
see it thrive.” 

“I don’t look to,” said Sime. 

And your wife is at the Maternity Hospital, 
and needs to go into the country ?” 

“ Yes, but she can’t go, poor girl, so I ’m 
going out to fetch her home to-morrow.” 

“ At what time ?” asked Jean eagerly. 

Ten, sharp.’ 

I ’ll be there with the carriage, and if you 
both will like it I ’ll take her and the baby out 
to our farm, six miles in the country. It ’s a 
little dairy farm we bought, so we could have 
plenty of butter and cream and so on, and the 
woman there is so nice — she will be as good as 
can be to your wife and baby and they can stay — 
oh, as long as they want, until October. You 
can go out and see them, you know. I do n’t 
want you to lose any more little children, Mr. 
Ridder.” 


LIFE MORE AB UNDANTL Y, 8i 

Then taking a bill from her purse, she held 
it out, saying, “ It is my present to the new baby, 
Mr. Ridder, if you ’ll take it, and go buy your 
wife and the baby some clothes so they can go 
comfortably.” 

Sime took the bill awkwardly, he recalled his 
one previous interview with Jean. “ Mebby — I 
can do something for you. Miss, someday. If 
there ’s any rats — ” he was all confused. Jean 
laughed. 

“ Oh, I expect you to do a great deal for me 
someday. I ’ll be at the hospital at ten exactly.” 

Jean felt very happy as she drove away from 
the coffee-stall. What a delightful experience 
it would be to poor ’Mandy Ann, to be rested, 
fed and cared for in the country ! This new 
baby would comfort its lonely parents for the 
little ones that had been lost. This rescue of 
Sime Ridder’s child seemed so exactly the work 
for her to do — her father's money, her father’s 
daughter, would come to the rescue where her 
father had done so sore a wrong ; this was surely 
the path of earthly expiation of her father’s 
errors that she had chosen to tread. Yet she 
softened in her thoughts of her father’s course ; 
truly he had not understood what he was doing. 
What was it Aunt Prudence had read to her that 
morning, the very words of Christ: ^‘Father, 
forgive them, for they know not what they do.” 

6 


S2 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


That prayer must have clasped her father in the 
wideness of its mercy. 

Thinking of the Ridder baby turned Jean’s 
mind toward the mother and twins taken to 
the “Woman’s Home of Rest,” and she drove 
there. 

“ Oh, yes, Mrs. Finch and her babies,” said 
the neat little damsel at the door ; they were in 
the nursery, she could go right up there. 

What had a quiet comfortable month wrought ! 
Here was a young woman, well washed and 
brushed, wearing a clean lilac calico; on her 
lap lay a tidy baby in a dotted calico gown, 
while a baby to match lay on a folded quilt at 
her feet. Each baby was pulling at a full bottle, 
and already the baby skins had lost some of 
their dry, pasty appearence, eyes were brighter 
and less sunken, the skin less drawn over the 
long face. 

“Why!” Is this you?” cried Jean cheer- 
fully. 

“ It is the young lady,” said Mrs. Finch, 
rising. “ I do n’t wonder you ’re amazed to see 
us. Miss. If it had n’t been for the lady, those 
babies would be up in the potter’s field ; and for 
me — maybe I ’d been in the river, I was that 
hopeless.” 

“ But how you are improved 1” 

“ Yes, it is peace and sleep, and wholesome 


LIFE MORE AB UNDAN TL Y. 83 

food, and soap and water, and pure air, did it,” 
said the nurse. 

“We’re near the Park,” said Mrs. Finch, 
“ and there ’s a baby buggy, and I wheel ’em out 
every day. Yesterday, miss, I took some bottles 
of milk and a paper of sandwiches — meat and 
biscuit they were for me — and I went up to the 
Park with the babies and stopped all day. Oh, 
miss, it was heavenly ; I never had such a beau- 
tiful day before !” 

Jean’s brown eyes grew round with wonder- 
ment. A pair of babies in a willow wagon, 
sandwiches, milk bottles, all day in the Park — 
this had made a day of unequalled happiness, a 
heavenly time ! What was this poor woman 
made of ? In what terrible arid places had her 
lot hitherto been cast ? 

“Tell me all about how you have got on,” 
said Jean. 

“ Why, my lady, that first day you know, as 
soon as we were all well scrubbed and put into 
clean night-gowns and well filled with food, we 
went right to bed and slept seventeen hours 
without ever waking up. Did n’t we, nurse ? 
Only nurse, she put fresh bottles to the babies’ 
mouths once in five hours, she said, so they 
wouldn’t die of weakness. Then after being 
awake for a few hours we slept ten more. It 
was the first time, miss, ary a one of us had 


84 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


ever in our lives slept clean and soft and not 
plumb scared through and through. Since then, 
miss, seems we ’ve slept and ate most of the 
time, and nurse has been teaching me to sew 
better, and I made the frocks the babies wear. 
It is lovely, but it can’t last for ever. Miss, and 
what will become of us when we ’re sent from 
here? I haven’t so much as a blanket. All 
was took for rent of the corner I had in Miss 
Quiggs’ room. For a week ’fore the lady had 
mercy on me, me an’ the babies had jest laid in 
corners on the stairs, or hall floor, and them 
poor weakly babies tugging at me for food and 
me without a drop for their blessed little mouths. 
Oh, after all this, seems like I couldn’t abear 
that again.” 

“ Do n’t fret,” said the nurse soothingly. 
“Haven’t I told you that the dear Lord had 
raised you up a friend to send you here, and he 
would open some way for you to live decent and 
take care of the babies ? Why, see how well off 
you ’re going to be ; your man ’s sentenced for 
eighteen years, you say ; and if ever he does get 
back these boys will be big enough to do for 
you and defend you and themselves. Surely 
now you ’ve a chance for life.” 

Jean listened, her brown eyes rounder than 
ever in her amaze. Like other girls of her age 
she had had her views and dreams of married 


LIFE MORE AB UNDANTL Y. 85 

life, and she had taken it for granted that the 
husband’s long years of sentence were the bit- 
terest drop in Mrs. Finch’s cup. Now it was 
spoken of as a grand deliverance, the chief ele- 
ment of safety ; here was a new and singular 
view of matrimonial happiness. 

Do n’t worry about by-and-by,” said Jean 
gently ; my aunt and I will try and help you 
to take care of yourself. I think to-day a ride 
for two hours in the Park will be nice for you. 
You get ready and come down to the door with 
me, and you shall go in my phaeton for an out- 
ing and I will go home by myself.” 

Jean committed Mrs. Finch and her twins to 
the care of a much be-buttoned and not wholly 
well -pleased youth, and then returned to the 
nursery. She was amusing herself with two or 
three small children who were playing on the 
floor when a pleasing young woman entered. 

“ Oh, Miss Lacy,” said the nurse, who ’d 
think of seeing you out of the shop at this time 
of day ?” 

“ So much the worse for me,” said Miss Lacy ; 
“ the shop is closed. Miss Bell has been para- 
lyzed and there is no one to take her place. 
She has money enough to live on and meant to 
retire soon. It is hard on us girls, just here in 
the slack season, and no chance before late Sep- 
tember to find openings, if we do then. I can’t 


86 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


afford to stay idle that long. I Ve walked the 
streets for a week looking for work, and I came 
to see if you ’d ask the lady managers when they 
meet if any of them have work for me. I ’ll do 
plain sewing or anything to get wages. You 
see I paid out about all my savings to that doc- 
tor that thought he could straighten Lois’ back, 
and he never helped her one bit. The Johnsons 
are as kind as can be to us, but they can’t board 
us for nothing ; they are real hard pressed them- 
selves.” 

‘‘What a pity that you have not enough 
money laid up to let you enjoy a little rest and 
take Lois to the country.” 

“ Oh, yes, that of course ; but it ’s outside of 
the question. I shall be thankful enough to 
win bread, I can tell you. I did take Lois to a 
little woods just at the end of the street-car line, 
and we picnicked there one day, and had one 
day in the Park, but you see I must look up 
work. Don’t forget me, nurse — plain sewing, 
children’s dresses, plain house dresses. I ’m 
called a good hand.” 

“You are that — I ’ll remember.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Jean drawing near, “ I may 
know of something. We always seem to have 
so much sewing, and if you wouldn’t mind 
doing dozens of children’s aprons — ?” 

“ I would n’t mind any kind of sewing that 


LIFE MORE ABUNDANTL V. 87 

would give a living for me and Lois, my little 
cripple sister.” 

“ I 'd Lave to speak to Aunt Prudence. I 
do n’t seem to know much about these things 
myself. Shall I bring word to the nurse to-mor- 
row? or will you come to my home at nine? 
Here ’s my card.” 

“ I ’ll come.” 

“Well, and take Lois out in the country 
again to-day, for I know aunt will have a deal 
of work for you.” 

“ Now, you see,” said the nurse, “ how the 
dear Lord sends one of his children to pick up 
another.” 

Jean was thinking of this as she walked 
slowly along on the shady side of the street 
toward the car line going nearest to her home. 
It seemed so wonderful, so beautiful to be doing 
errands for God. 

“Why, Jean, dear child, way up here by 
yourself?” — a lady in deep morning stopped 
her, and as she threw back her heavy veil Jean 
recognized Mrs. Carl Jennings. “ Dear child, 
I have not seen you since your father died. 
You are in mourning as well as 1. I meant to 
go to you, but I cannot find courage to go any- 
where.” 

“ And I have not seen you since the dear lit- 
tle baby died last spring, Mrs. Jennings,” said 


88 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


Jean softly. I wish I could say a word to com- 
fort you, you look so sad.” 

“I am sad. And you too, Jean, and I heard 
some news about your eyes. Are they very 
bad?” 

“ I do n’t know ; we think I shall be all right 
in two or three years, if we do right with them, 
and if I don’t worry or think about myself ; and 
Aunt Prudence has found me something to do 
with her, that is pleasant and makes me happy, 
so I forget myself.” 

“ Your Aunt Prudence ! I used to know her 
when we were girls. She was so bright and 
strong and — odd.” 

“ She is yet, if instead of odd you say good 
and wise. Mrs. Jennings, Aunt Prudence has 
helped me so I Wont you come home with me 
now and see her ? I am sure you will find that 
she can comfort you too.” 

“I would like to see Prudence,” said Mrs. 
Jennings. 

“ Come, then, right away. She will be glad, 
for she seems never to forget anyone. When 
she tells you all about the work we are doing, 
perhaps you will help us in it.” 

“What work is it?” asked Mrs. Jennings, 
regarding with interest the girl’s face brilliantly 
lit with her enthusiasm. 

“ For the poor people in the Rents, especially 


LIFE MORE ABUNDANTLY, 


for the homes, the women and the little chil- 
dren. We are working to make up, if we can, 
for what has been hard and wrong there. I 
want to use my father’s name and money so 
that he will be loved now that he is dead, and 
that he will be remembered only for the good 
that was done by his property. Mrs. Jennings, 
there are so very many poor, sick, starved, des- 
olate little babies. Would it not be lovely to 
do things for them and have dozens of little 
children growing up well and strong, and 
happy, for the sake of the dear baby that 
died ?” 

Fancy simply painted for Mrs. Jennings a 
picture far below the actual facts, of wan, wail- 
ing, wretched babies, neglected in their agonies, 
and memory unveiled the picture of that well- 
loved child dwindling to death in the midst of 
remembered luxuries and tenderest cares. 

To think,” she said, of women who neg- 
lect and do not care for their children ! Jean, I 
should hate those women. I read lately that in 
one tenement-house a child died, and the family 
simply moved out and abandoned the dead body 
without a word !” 

‘‘ I know,” shuddered Jean. It was awful; 
it happened in our Rents! Such things shall 
never be there again. But, Mrs. Jennings, if 
you knew how starved and helpless and miser- 


po THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

able they are, and the women so terrorized by 
the men ; the men most of them drink.” 

“ Well, why are they such drunken brutes?” 

“I have heard Aunt Prudence and Mr. 
Moultrie talk of it. These men drink because 
their parents drank before them, because they 
were given liquor from childhood, because of 
the examples about them and the opportunity 
the law allows on every comer, and because 
they are out of work, and because they are not 
well fed. When men are at work and have 
hearty meals and live where the strong drink is 
not under their noses at each turn, then there is 
not nearly so much drunkenness.” 

“ But the women, Jean ; some of them 
drink.” 

“Yes, from just the same causes as the men, 
aunt says.” 

“And those women that do n’t drink, why do 
they stay there and sacrifice themselves and 
their children to drunken brutes ?” 

“ They are so enslaved by the men, Mrs. 
Jennings, and they have never been taught how 
to work well ; also work is scarce, not enough 
for all that need support. They have nothing 
to work with, no machines, no tubs and irons, 
while people who need work done keep away 
from such quarters; they are afraid of violence 
or contagion. Why, Mrs. Jennings, yesterday I 


LIFE MORE AB UNDANTL V. pi 

was out with aunt, and when she had left the 
carriage I saw a street that did not look very 
bad, so I thought I ’d walk through it. As soon 
as I entered it a policeman stepped up and 
walked beside me. A crowd followed us in a 
minute ; I suppose they thought I was arrested, 
but when they saw that we were merely talking 
and that he was showing me things they fell off. 
The street was short and when we were through 
it he said, “ Now, young lady, do n’t you do that 
again.” 

“ Of course you should not !” cried Mrs. Jen- 
nings. 

“ No. Aunt said it was safer for older and 
more experienced folks, and I should go with 
her or the Bible women or nurses. We have 
engaged such a dear bright sensible elderly 
woman for a Bible woman and another for a 
nurse, and they are at work down there al- 
ready.” 

“ Doing what ?” 

“ Oh, nursing, doctoring, teaching, advising, 
comforting.” 

Jean signaled a car and she and Mrs. Jen- 
nings took their places. Mrs. Jennings began 
to find herself carried away by the young girl's 
eagerness. 

“ Who is helping your aunt in this work ?” 

“ Mr. Moultrie is doing a great deal. Mr. 


g2 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


Dysart engaged him for John’s tutor, and John 
wont study or do anything for Mr. Moultrie, al- 
though Mr. Moultrie is kind and jolly and a 
great athlete. However, he chases about after 
John always if he is out of sight.” 

“ I hope John is not going wrong, Jean ?” 

That ’s one thing I want of you, Mrs. Jen- 
nings ; help John.” 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


93 


CHAPTER V. 

FOR WHOSE SAKE ? 

Sow and look onward, upward, 

Where the starry light appears. 

Where in spite of cowards crowding. 

Or your own heart’s trembling fears. 

You shall reap in joy the harvest 
You have sown to-day in tears." 

Mrs. Jennings was holding Prudence Car- 
diff’s hand and looking earnestly into her face. 

How have you done it, Prudence ?” she asked. 
“We are of the same age— as many years have 
passed over you as over me — you have had sor- 
rows I know and you have worked hard ; your 
face shows experiences, for it has more than the 
strength of youth, but it does not show wear'' 

“ Rachel, the Lord called me to work, but he 
never called me nor any one else to worry. 
The work is given, but he offers to bear the 
burden. The work does not kill, it is the burden- 
bearing that causes overstrain. Beside me has 
walked my Lord ever ready to help, and I have 
tried much to cultivate the habit of recognizing 
that blessed presence.” 

“Prudence,” sighed Mrs. Jennings, “you al- 
ways walked in a realm that others knew not of.” 


94 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


A sudden call took Miss Prudence from the 
room. Mrs. Jennings turned to Mr. Moultrie: 
“It was always so/' she said; “as a girl we 
realized that Prudence was far above our 
range." 

“ But on those lofty heights she does not 
walk alone," said Mr. Moultrie ; “ with her on 
her way goes her Lord." Then he smiled, add- 
ing, “ She sees one Man, the Man Jesus : knows 
one book, the Bible : has one object, to follow 
in Christ's steps ; not that she is not brilliantly 
well-informed and of general interest, but these 
are paramount." 

“Where will they lead?" asked Mrs. Jen- 
nings. 

“Where will what lead," asked Miss Pru- 
dence returning. 

“ The steps of your Leader." 

“ His led him where he was needed, and I do 
not wish to go elsewhere," replied Miss Pru- 
dence. 

“ This truly is to find living, Christ, and dy- 
ing, gain ; but I never could attain to it," said 
Mrs. Jennings, “and since I lost the little one I 
seem hemmed in by darkness." 

“ Do not shut yourself in with sorrow ; arise, 
go out to duty, and comfort will be gathered in 
the busy ways of helping humanity. Those 
who have been anointed by sorrow are best able 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


9J 

to bring to others the comfort with which they 
themselves have been comforted by God.” 

Mr. Dysart here entered. “ Well, Prudence, 
how goes it at the Rents ?” 

“All is ready for the exodus. The houses I 
have secured are in a decent condition. I offer 
the new rooms at the rent, sometimes less than 
the rent, of the old ; I remit this present month's 
rent so that they may start fair ; I offer the mov- 
ing where any moving is to be done — and yet 
many of the people reluct about going, hold 
back, are gloomy and suspicious. There are 
some blatant idlers who say I have ‘ no right to 
charge any rent ’ — ‘ the rich ought to support the 
poor others say they ‘ do n’t want to be bossed 
they want their liberty and ‘ they wont go where 
people will interfere about the throwing of a bit 
of slop into the halls, or where they can’t pull 
up a loose floor-board if they need fire.’ But 
many of them are more than thankful and are 
anxious for better quarters and better oppor- 
tunities. My Bible woman has had doors 
banged in her face and dirty water and ashes 
flung on her ; the nurse has been chased with a 
club, has been pelted with rotten vegetables, 
and vituperated. On the other hand both 
Bible woman and nurse have been by some 
blessed, welcomed and thanked in the heartiest 
fashion.” 


p6 THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 

** What do you do with such people !” cried 
Mrs. Jennings. 

“I’m thankful for the reasonable and im- 
provable ; I can’t say that I am surprised at the 
brutal ; when I consider their surroundings, I 
wonder how they can be better. In a Christian 
country the circumstances of these poor have 
been such as not merely to deface but to efface 
the image of God.” 

“And how do you mean to manage it?” 
asked Mr. Dysart. 

“ Out of the Rents they all go to-morrow, if 
I have to call in police force. I hope I shall 
not be driven to that. Those rough and ready 
apostles of the change, Rufus Hapgood and 
Sime Ridder, are busy at work overcoming diffi- 
culties; the Bible woman and Home are not 
without influence, the example of the willing 
will be helpful, while the fact that really they 
are as ill off as they can be and a change cannot 
be a disadvantage, all will help to vacate the 
Rents.” 

“ In other words this wretched mass of hu- 
manity will have to give way as usual before the 
Cardiff granite ; happily the turn of events is in 
their favor, and the Cardiff granite will be built 
into their homes,” laughed Mr. Dysart. “ What 
are you doing down there, Moultrie, since the 
pupil I provided will have none of you?” 


FOR WHOSE SAFE? 


97 


I have been overlooking workmen, and 
renovations at the houses rented for the people 
to move into. I am getting acquainted with the 
people so as to understand them better and to 
form correct judgments about them. Usually 
the ones loudest mouthed in their own praise or 
defense, most declamatory against their neigh- 
bors, are the laziest, most undeserving rascals in 
the crowd. I am working toward having a little 
employment office, where I can, by means of 
helpers in the business parts of the city find 
work for men and women according to their 
abilities. Miss Cardiff feels as I do that there 
is no greater mismanagement of charity than 
simply pauperizing people by supplying their 
needs, while making no effort to raise them to 
the plane of bread-winners. I am moving 
toward the establishment of a night-school. 
Each evening about seven I go to the Rents, 
and standing in one of the lower halls with my 
violin, I begin to play old-fashioned simple 
tunes — ‘ Suwanee River,’ ‘Annie Laurie,’ ‘ Home, 
Sweet Home,’ ‘The Campbells are Coming,’ 
‘ Wearing of the Green,’ ‘ Wacht am Rhine.’ 
You’ve no idea how the people collect about 
me, won by the music, a breathless crowd — 
fighting, crying, jangling all stopped for the 
time. Then I slowly wander into hymn-tunes, 
and finally I stop playing and begin to sing 
7 


g8 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE, 

hymns, ‘Rock of Ages,’ ‘Jesus, Lover of My 
Soul,’ ‘ Nearer, My God, to Thee,’ and others. 
Do you know the favorites are Rouse’s version 
of the Twenty-third Psalm, ‘Jerusalem, My 
Happy Home,’ ‘ Oh, Paradise,’ ‘ Come unto Me 
when shadows deeply gather,’ and ‘Jerusalem 
the Golden?’ Well, I sing five or six of them 
sometimes, and the hush deepens and I see tears 
in dull eyes and on hard faces. Then I pull out 
my Testament and read a few verses in the gos- 
pels. Most of them listen to that as quietly as 
to the music ; some steal off. When I have read 
I close my eyes and make a short simple prayer 
as pat to their needs as I can. When I open my 
eyes about one-third of my audience are gone — 
softly gone. However, the police tell me that 
they make less arrests since that evening wor- 
ship began. In the hall where I stand we have 
a big lamp with a big reflector fastened to the 
wall, and maybe that is not without its moral 
effect. Evil deeds crave darkness. If tenement- 
houses were well lit all night in the hall from 
top to bottom, there would be less crime for the 
courts to see to, and the light would come cheaper 
to the city than criminal cases. In a town where 
I went to college there was a dark vacant lot, 
pretty well shut in by blank walls, where fights, 
gambling, drinking, all manner of evil abounded 
and arrests were made almost every night. The 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


99 

city ordered a big arc light right in the centre 
of that lot and order reigned.” 

“ I shall have the halls of the renovated Rents 
abundantly lit,” said Miss Prudence. 

“ John plays well on the flute and cornet,” 
said Mr. Dysart ; “ can’t you coax him to help 
out your music, Moultrie ?” 

“ I have tried, but he absolutely refuses.” 

“ Mrs. Jennings says we should get John to 
arrange a gymnasium for himself here at the 
house ; he is fond of athletics and can have his 
friends practise with him, and Mr. Moultrie 
taught athletics at college,” said Jean. “ If 
John has the gymnasium I will get him to 
teach me and let me practise with him, and by- 
and-by, by degrees maybe I can coax him to set 
up a little gymnasium for the men and boys at 
the Rents and teach them himself.” 

That is a good plan. Try it. But while you 
do the coaxing I must do some threatening.” 

Mr. Dysart accordingly threatened. Thus he 
addressed his ward, “ John, it seems you have 
been having about fifty dollars a month pocket 
money for two or three years. What do you do 
with it ? I ’ve known men to support families 
in decency on that amount.” 

John whistled. “It wouldn’t support me 
much — cigarettes, theatres, neckties, trinkets— 
hotel dinners get away with it for me.” 


100 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


^‘So much money for a lad of your years 
spent in that way is all a mistake. Cigarettes 
and late hours will get away with you, my son. 
I ’m going to halve that allowance to begin with. 
On the fifteenth of September I shall enter you 
at Prof. Gray’s Academy.” 

“ I wont study,” said John grimly. 

'‘You’d better, my son, or I shall put you 
into a military school, and there you’ll be 
allowed no pocket-money. You and I have had 
many talks, John, and I ’ve shown you as well 
as I can the dangers personal to yourself, of 
some of your methods.” 

“I expect,” sneered John, “that you’d like 
to see me a goody boy, spending my time and 
pennies pampering those slummies down at the 
Rents as Jean and aunt do.” 

“You might do worse,” said Mr. Dysart. 
“ Philanthropic work properly conducted is no 
small business ; it enlarges our mental and 
moral outlook. Really why not interest your- 
self in something of the kind on your own ac- 
count, for lads of your own age? There are 
a plenty of them, friendless and forsaken, and 
you know what lads want. Why not set up 
a gymnasium on a small scale, instruct in it, 
conduct it financially on your own plans ; let us 
see what business tact is in you.” 

“ None,” said John promptly. “ What should 


FOR WHOSE SAKEf 


loi 


I worry with business for, if I can get on with- 
out it? Want me to go down there and set up 
the ‘ Cardiff Gym ’ for slummies ? Thanks, aw- 
fully ; but I ’m not going to do it. I think too 
much of my name to mix it up with slums.” 

“ See here, my lad, it has not waited for you 
to do that mixing, it has mixed already. Car- 
diff and slums have been yoked together in the 
cognizance of the public for two generations. 
Cardiff Rents have stood as a synonym for all 
that is pestilential, criminal, miserable. If a 
man hailed from there, no one wanted him in 
even the most menial capacity. The name has 
gone down into the dirt, John, but it can be 
lifted.” 

“ Not by me, all the same,” said John. 

The well-intending bachelor groaned inward- 
ly, and wished any other one than himself had 
been made guardian of John Cardiff. He knew 
he would see trouble with him. 

Meantime Jean and Aunt Prudence kept on 
with their work. The kindergarten was estab- 
lished, and Jean persuaded John to go with her 
to purchase the tables and little chairs, black- 
boards, number-frames, slates, blocks, and sew- 
ing materials. Jean ran a kindergarten on her 
own lines ; she had the children taught to wash 
dishes and windows, to sew on buttons, mend 
rips and darn stockings. John thought the buy- 


102 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


ing part rather funny, but he would not visit 
the school. Amy’s mother had secured the place 
as general care-taker, suggested by Rufus Hap- 
good. 

Mrs. Jennings having gone down Cardilf 
Rents way with Aunt Prudence and Jean, found 
her aching mother-heart drawn to the babies — 
the poor, miserable, starving babies ! What 
could be done for them ? 

“ The nurse at the Women’s House of Rest 
says,” said Jean, “that what the babies need is 
pure milk, fresh air, and soap and water. But 
how can they get them ?” 

“ They must have them,” said Mrs. Jen- 
nings; “their big, sad eyes haunt me. They 
must be helped for my dead baby’s dear sake.” 
Then Mrs. Jennings set up a most diligent 
thinking. “If I could find a clean, reliable 
woman right in this neighborhood, who would 
take care of pure milk, and keep it clean and 
pure, and sell it to mothers for babes — sell it 
very cheap, or give it where it had to be given ! 
There would be need of a refrigerator.” 

“ I know !” cried Jean clapping her hands. 
“There is a good refrigerator in our cellar. 
Father bought two of a new patent, and the 
old one was put into the cellar ; but it is quite 
good. Two years ago John saw it there and 
he planned to fasten it up, and play we were 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 103 

burglars, and blow it open. John got some 
powder, but just as we were arranging it the 
butler and Mrs. Dali, the housekeeper, came 
down, and took the powder, and drove us away. 
Seems queer I could have been so silly two 
years ago ! But there is the refrigerator, and 
you can have it. I believe I can show you the 
woman, too. Rufus Hapgood says the very 
best woman around this neighborhood is the 
mother of that little Sandy Lindsay. She is a 
Scotch woman, a widow. Sandy is that little 
freckled-faced, red-haired boy, who is always 
hanging about ready to pounce on something 
to do and do it well.” 

Jean and Mrs. Jennings were sitting in the 
kindergarten room, admiring it greatly, for all 
was ready to begin with the children next day. 
Amy and her mother were out expounding the 
merits of the plan, and drumming up children 
for pupils. 

I believe you have a gift for finding the 
right people to do work, Jean,” said Mrs. Jen- 
nings. “ There is that Miss Lacy, I found her 
up in the little hall sewing-room at your house, 
busy and cheerful, finishing all those blue, 
brown, and green gingham aprons for the kin- 
dergarten.” 

“ I hope I have a gift for something,” said 
Jean, for I always seem to be making mis- 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


104 

takes, and I find, as Aunt Prudence says, that 
promiscuous giving and reckless charity do more 
harm than good. A woman wept a dollar out 
of me with the story of a child to bury, and 
she got drunk on the dollar and was taken to 
prison.” 

“ But the child ?” queried Mrs. Jennings anx- 
iously. 

All a make up. There was n’t any child. 
She had never had any. She was just ‘ doing 
me,’ as John says they all are.” 

“ Come, let us go and see that Mrs. Lindsay,” 
said Mrs. Jennings, picking up her parasol. 

Following the directions given by Rufus 
Hapgood, they presently found themselves be- 
fore a basement, half of it sunk below the pave- 
ment and rising in a line of square windows 
above the walk. The windows were clean, and 
displayed a variety of garments — frocks, aprons, 
underwear. The window-seats were wide, and 
were stocked with cards of buttons of all makes 
and sizes, little flaps or cushions of pins, small 
boxes of hooks and eyes, handkerchiefs and 
stockings nicely darned, a few dolls and toys ; 
everything clean, orderly and evidently second 
or third hand. The steps were clean, leading 
into a very clean room where a girl of twelve, a 
cripple, was busily preparing buttons and such 
other articles as lay on the window-seat. 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


105 

A careworn, kindly, middle-aged woman was 
by a table cutting over garments, a pile of such 
work being on the end of the table, apparently 
in readiness for the adjacent sewing-machine. 

“I am Mrs. Jennings, and this is Miss Car- 
diff. We came to talk to you about a little plan 
we have.” 

“ Aye, you and the bonny young leddy are 
mair than welcome. Sandy has been tellin’ us 
aboot the guid wark is being done at yon Rents. 
Not before it was needed, sure eneuch.” 

‘‘We wish to do some further work — for the 
little children, and we want you to help us.” 

“ I ’d be juist mair than bye ordinar glad to 
help, gif I ony ways can. It is the guid Lord 
sends you to lend a han’ to the weary an’ heavy- 
laden.” 

Jean turned brightly. “ You make me think 
of a verse aunt read to me in the Bible this 
morning: “‘We sing the Lord’s song in a 
strange land.’ ” 

“ Aye. It begins ‘ How can we !’ An’ ‘ How 
can we sing the Lord’s song here !’ Many is the 
time I said it to myself when first I came here. 
But I found that sure eneuch we can sing it 
wherever he calls us, and I am sure he called 
me here, though at the first I didna feel sae 
sure aboot it.” 

“Tell us all about it,” said Jean; she and 


io6 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

Mrs. Jennings had been given chairs near the 
table, and Widow Lindsay, as she talked, still 
worked with amazing quickness and precision, 
cutting little garments out of worn large ones. 
A door across the entry opened, and Sandy 
came out with two small paper boxes of buttons, 
hooks and eyes, and pins. These he handed to 
the cripple. He left the door open behind him, 
and Jean saw a room full of rags and old gar- 
ments, as if, as was truly the case, dozens of 
rag-bags and barrels had there been emptied. 
Sandy smiled at the visitors, went back to the 
room and came out with one arm laden with 
ragged gowns, capes, aprons, the other with 
white goods. These he carried to a room be- 
yond the one Jean sat in ; as he entered it she 
saw a young woman vigorously washing. 

“ Here ’s more, Janey.” 

“Throw ’em down,” said Janey. 

“ There, mither, they ’re all sorted ; and 
here ’s a dime I found, and a bit dollie, and a 
cloth cat, and a knife. That ’s all, forbye a little 
toy picture-book, I forgot that.” 

“Ball the rags to be carted awa’,” ordered 
his mother. 

Sandy disappeared in the rag-room and shut 
the door. 

“This interests me,” said Jean, “Tell us 
about it.” 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 107 

Aye, a puir widow woman’s story is inter- 
estin’ to nane but hersel’, I ’m thinkin’, leddies. 
It ’s no long, hoosoever. I was born in Scotian ’> 
an’ I had a sister aulder then me, a sonsie lassie, 
who early marriet a neer-do-weel callant an’ 
cam’ to Ameriky. We could tell by her letters 
she was no’ gettin’ on weel, nor was she happy. 
She had a wheen bairns ; some died an’ some 
lived ; in sic streets as these, bairns have it hard 
to struggle for life.” 

“ Yes4 that is what I must talk to you about,” 
said Mrs. Jenings. 

Well my faither and mither died, and the 
brithers were marriet and had their own hard 
ways to mak in the worl’, an’ Sandy was a bit 
bairn a year old — eleven is Sandy the noo’ — 
when my man died sudden -like, an’ at that 
verra time cam’ news my puir sister was dead, 
leavin four bairns under nine, an’ the least one, 
Aggie yon, a cripple. It seemed the Lord called 
me to come an’ do for them, an’ I came. I ’d 
ha’ come gif I ’d known what I was coming to, 
but I did na, and it is a mercy the dear Lord 
veils what is beyond us fro’ oor eeen, an’ leads 
us but ae step at a time ! When I came here,” 
and Mistress Lindsay looked about her with 
decent pride, ‘‘this place was grimed wi’ dirt. 
My puir sister had lain four months in hospital. 
Yon steps were broken, the window panes half 


io8 THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 

gone, walls black, floor — weel, ye could n’t see 
what the floor wes ; an’ here was four weans, 
thin, ragged, dirty, puir Janey tryin’ her best 
to be a mither to them. I canna tell ye leddies 
hoo my hairt died awa we’in me when I saw it 
a’. Puir an’ hard worken’ I aye had been, but 
clean an’ decent, an’ respecktit. Ance my een 
rested on they childer, my hairt clave to them 
a’. I could na mair ha gane back an’ lef’ them 
to perish, than I could ha’ lef’ my wee Sandy, 
forbye I had ony a few punds left, an’ had given 
up a’ my wark i’ my auld hame. Weel, I pit it 
to Jock Moore, my brither-in-law, he suld get a 
mair decent place, an’ I wed be faithfu’ to the 
childer, an help him aim a leevin’; an’ he wed 
na. He said here he an’ the childer suld stay, 
an’ I micht take em’ or leave ’em, where I fund 
’em. He had been a wild, noisy, spendthrift 
loon ance, an’ the noo he waur changed to a 
dour, close-fisted grum’lin body. I canna say I 
liket him ony better ane way nor the ither. I 
canna bear swearin’ an’ Sabba-breakin’, an that ’s 
Jock Moore’s way. Hoosoever he micht be 
waur, he never drinks, an’ he never lift his han’ 
or feet against any ; an gif a mon kens hoo to 
keep his place like that, a woman can thole him 
some way, but Jock an’ I do no say much to t’ 
ither. 

My mither used to say til me I hed no dowry 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


log 

but common sense, an’ common sense aye worket 
wi’ the tool at han’. Sae I pullt mysen to- 
gether, an’ I told Jock I had a bit o’ furniture wi 
me, an’ gif he wad promise to pay six months 
rent ahead, I could get the lendlord to fix us up 
a bit. So Jack grummeled, an’ swore, but he 
did it. The landlord took pity of me. ‘ My wo- 
man,’ says he, ‘ the place killed your sister, an 
your ’re too good for it ! ‘Aye ’ I seys, ‘ but sin’ 
the Lord pits me here, I can thole it. Na doot 
I have work to do.’ So I hired two rooms on 
the top story, wi’ sun in ’em, for bed-rooms for 
me an the childer, an Jock sleeps, wull ye believe 
it, in the rag - room ! The landlord pit new 
windows, an steps, an floors in for me, an’ white- 
wash I laid on thick, an’ I bought paint an’ 
Jock painted nights, and when it was weel 
cleaned I ha’ kep it sae. Ye may guess I cleaned 
up the childer first o’ a’; an’ sin I had bocht to 
America a big chest fu’ o’ goods — same as if I 
was cornin’ to a wild country, I kenned sae little 
o’ the place — I made oop claes for them a’. Then 
there was yon room chock fu’ o’ rags, which Jock 
didna sell, because he said he had na’ the time 
to rip them a’ oop an’ sort them a’. Dy’e ken 
the loon hes a dream o’ findin’ a fortin sewed up 
in the linin’s o’ some o’ the rags ? He says he ’s 
heard o’ sic doins. So the childer an’ I sorted 
for him, an’ he helpit o’ nichts, an’ I found 


no 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


noo an agen hale new claes, and kerchers an’ 
sic, stuffed careless in the rags — also many pairt 
worn things, and toys, pictures, buttons, buck- 
les, pins, as ye see Aggie yon warkin over. Sae 
I set up this shop, makin’ over claes an’ sellin 
notions ; an’ I sell cheap verra, o’ what hes cost 
nae mair than a cent an a half a pund. Ye wad 
no think it, but I ha’ fed an’ clothed a’ the 
childer oot o’ this wark. Jock dinna pay but the 
rent an' the coal. Some say he hoards what he 
aims, some say he gambles it ; I canna tell, but 
I ’m main sure that it is not as he says, when 
he vows he maks nae mair than his claes, an’ 
the keep o’ his horse an’ cart, an’ the rent an’ 
coal, ha, ha!” 

“Did you ever find money in the rags?” 
asked Jean. 

“ Na, leddy, forebye a copper, or a dime 
whiles. But I ha’ laid oop a few dollars, sae the 
city need na bury us. Janey helps me, doin’ 
washin; she’s a good lass; an’ Aggie, she’s 
a graun help. Jamie gangs wi’ his daddy for 
rags, an’ Alice, the ither lass, I got a fine hame 
in the country whaur she gangs to school, an’ 
has a’ she could ask for. Noo I have talkit oer 
lang o’ my puir doins.” 

“We are greatly interested,” said Mrs. Jen- 
nings. “ I came to see about setting up a little 
milk depot, to give pure fresh country milk to 


FOR WHOSE SAKE? 


Ill 


the babies about here. I want to provide a re- 
frigerator, ice the milk, some one to take charge, 
and a hundred nursing bottles, that will be ex- 
changed as filled, so that the person in charge 
can keep them clean, and give the clean bottle 
with the fresh milk. My idea is to sell the milk 
cheap, and where it cannot be paid for the d^pot 
shall give it at discretion. Tell me is such a 
work needed here?” 

“ Aye, madam, gif its worth while to save 
the puir babbies’ life an’ sufferrin. Why only 
yesterday, a puir woman on the next street had 
finally succedeed in findin a bit wark, an’ in gettin 
leave to bring her baby to a free day-nursery. 
She took the puir wean there, an’ it died in her 
airms as she sat there wi’ it — died o’ weakness 
an’ starvation! An’ the puir mither fainted, 
an’ they fand’ her just a skeleton, an’ she had 
no had food eneuch for a month to keep a birdee 
aleeve. It made me greet that I no had known 
o’ her, to share my bit sup wi’ her I Gif there 
had been a sign oop aboot milk, baith might hae 
been saved.” 

There ought to be sterilized milk, and all 
that,” said Mrs. Jennings; “but to begin the 
venture this season, I can just have pure new 
milk from healthy well fed country cows. I 
know where friends will send me in cans of 
such milk. Can you, Mrs. Lindsay, take charge 


JI2 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


of it, and have the ddpot here ? I will pay you 
for your trouble, serving the milk and cleaning 
the bottles.” 

“ Aggie could do it a' bravely, wi’ me to over- 
look her a wee. See, madam, a sign yon on the 
walk; the refrigerator could stan’ there, an’ 
beside it we wad hae a galvanized iron tub, wi’ 
water plenty an’ soda intil it, to wash the bot- 
tles. I hae water, the landlord pit us a tap in 
yon kitchen. Aye, I ’ll just be made, to hae 
sic a wark o’ luve to do ; an’ I ken the people 
aboot here — them as can, an’ them as canna pay. 
Ah, it is a blessed thought !” 

“ I could have the ice served daily ; that 
would cost sixty cents ; and perhaps you can 
take in enough milk money to pay for the ice, 
and for new nipples for the bottles as they give 
out. We will get the bottles and nipples whole- 
sale. Then if there is extra money I want loaves 
a day old, bought and served out in large pieces 
to the children too old for bottles and under four 
years of age. It makes me sick to think of such 
little creatures starving.” 

“ Aye. When wull we begin, madam ?” 

“ To-morrow I will send the tub, bottles, and 
refrigerator ; the ice and milk will be served the 
next morning.” 

“ Aye, aye. I ’ll have that long to let it be 
known.” 


J^OR WHOSE SAKE? 


Miss Cardiff had come with the carriage. 

There,” said Mrs. Jennings, as she took her 
place in it, “this woman proves what I said, 
where there is a will there is a way, and this 
beggary is from sheer shiftlessness. Think, she 
is decent down here, and they live on — rags !” 

“ But, consider. She had a decent religious 
up-bringing, she had a little store of clothes, 
money, and furniture to start on, and she was a 
woman grown, with character fixed, before she 
came into these surroundings,” said Miss Pru- 
dence. 

“ I suppose there is something in that,” ad- 
mitted Miss Jennings. 


8 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


114 


CHAPTER VI. 

CARDIFF GRANITE. 

“ Only a sweet and virtuous soul 
Like seasoned timber never gives.” 

“To-morrow,” said Jean at the breakfast- 
table, “ they are going to begin work on Cardiff 
Rents, and to-day Sime Ridder is going to go 
for the rats there. There must be thousands of 
them ; they run about like cats ; I ’ve seen them 
myself.” 

“ What ’s that?” demanded John ; “ rat-catch- 
ing? How?” 

“ I do n’t know. Sime Ridder is going to do 
it. He is a rat-catcher ; that is all he does. He 
goes to houses and hotels.” 

“ Ferrets?” queried John with interest. 

“ I can’t tell. I never asked. If you want to 
know let us go down there in the dog-cart and 
you can see him and talk to him. Sime is just 
as interesting as one of the men in Dickens’ 
tales that you like so much. So is Rufus Hap- 
good ; ke keeps a coffee-stall, but used to be a 
well-off young man, went to college, and our 
coachman Louis drove for his uncle. It’s so. 
Louis says so.” 

“ Whew !” said John ; “ well, I do n’t care if I 


CARDIFF GRANITE. 


do go with you. Remick, tell somebody I want 
the dog-cart double-quick.” 

The Cardiff Rents were deserted : doors and 
windows, where there were any, were open, and 
only a few dirty children and blear-eyed old 
people crawled about the empty rooms haunting 
their former lairs. As the dog-cart drove up 
there was a shrill cry, “ Hi, Sime ! yere ’s the 
leddy ! Hi there, Sime !” Out came Mr. Rid- 
der in his flapping felt hat, his broad broken 
shoes, and wearing a denim suit of trowsers and 
jacket with numerous big pockets. The pockets 
wriggled and squirmed, giving Mr. Ridder a 
queer look as if his clothes were as much alive 
as himself. He held a big rat in each hand. 
The rats blinked and twisted a little but seemed 
to have no strong objection to Mr. Ridder. Mr. 
Ridder was smoking a short black pipe, which, 
on seeing Jean, he politely deposited on a win- 
dow ledge. As he lifted his hand to do so the 
sharp nose of a rat stuck out from Mr. Ridder’s 
sleeve. 

“What do you do with all those rats, Mr. 
Ridder?” asked Jean. 

“Sell ’em to a man by the wharf as skins 
’em.” 

“What for?” 

“Skins are tanned to make kid gloves of. 
Miss.” 


ii6 THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 

Jean looked at her gloves with disgust and 
suspicion. 

'‘Cheaper kind than you wear, Miss,” said 
Sime consolingly. 

“Isay, Ridder, how do you do it?” asked 
John patronizingly. 

“ Why, you see, sir, if I told you that would 
be heaving my whole trade overboard. I 
worked it out by a deal of thinking long ago 
when I was a hand on lumber schooners. Tell 
you what, it takes a heap of sense to circumwent 
rats ; they be the longest headed cattle livin’. 
I believe Satan hisself conspires in ’em. I ’m 
the best rat-catcher ever was, and I ought to 
make enough to keep me an’ ’Mandy Ann in 
comfort, but I don’t. I ’low I have my failin’s.” 

“ But the rats,” insisted John, “ do you poison 
’em ?” 

“No I do n’t. You can’t poison ’em all, only 
a few ; they ’s too long-headed. An’ for every 
one you poisons two comes to the funeral. Then 
people don’t want dead rats ’tween the floor; 
’taint healthy.” 

“ Do you trap them ?” urged John. 

“No, I don’t trap ’em ; they’d catch on to 
that mighty soon ; they ’re too knowin’ to be 
trapped. Folks ain’t, but rats is. See this big 
un ?” said Mr. Ridder dragging a huge rat from 
his shirt pocket and holding him up by the neck ; 


CARDIFF GRANITE. 


117 


caught him with my hands just now ; laid for 
him by his hole and grabbed him. ’Fraid of 
him, Miss ? No, a rat never shows fight ’cept he 
sees you 're scared. No, I 'm not scared, an' the 
rats knuckle right down.” 

Ferrets ?” persisted John ; “ terriers ? Do 
you use them ?” 

“Well, I 've got a terrier or two an' a ferret 
or two, but I don’t tie partic’lar to ’em. I’ve 
got a corral for rats in two or three places in 
these buildings now, and those rat corrals will 
have hundreds in ’em pretty soon. In five days 
there wont be a rat in these Rents to speak 
of.” 

“ If it is so easy why did n’t you rid them out 
before?” demanded John. 

Sime looked surprised. “ Why nobody of- 
fered to pay me for it. An’ they wan’t my 
houses, and no one else cared to better ’em. 
Why should I? Now the ladies are trying to 
better things, I 'm going for the rats, and I ’m 
proud to do it without pay too, only what I get 
for the rats — a nickel a score.” Sime selected a 
big rat from his pocket and eyed him closely. 

“ Charm them ?” demanded John much ex- 
cited. 

“No, sir, I don’t charm ’em.” He painted 
the rat’s back with phosphorus and set the crea- 
ture on the floor ; it disappeared like a flash. 


ii8 THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 

“Fight ’em ever?” inquired John. 

“ It ’s agin the law. S’ciety fur Prewention 
’ud be after me quicker ’n a wink. No, I keep 
within laws.” 

“ Not likely to be much fun watching you” 
said John, and rolling up a five-dollar bill he 
tossed it to Sime, but in a fashion that aroused 
no gratitude though Sime pocketed the money. 
Jean had never given him any money ; she had 
helped him to a better living and had provided 
a country home for his wife and child, and in a 
shy pretty way had sent the baby money for 
clothing. Sime could have fallen down and 
worshipped her; he felt more of a man and 
more drawn toward decency when she spoke to 
him. 

“ Come, let us go and see Rufus Hapgood,” 
said Jean as John drove on. “ You ’ll find him 
interesting.” 

“Pooh! I don’t find such paupers interest- 
ing. Glad I ’m rich.” 

“ Well, John, so I am glad in one way. I 
think that the really rich are those who have 
learned to share with others and give happiness, 
whether they do it by money or words or kind- 
ness or helping.” 

John turned and looked closely at his sister. 
“Jean, I used to feel the oldest ; now you seem 
much older than I.” 


CARDIFF GRANITE. 


iig 


“You see, John, I ’ve been doing a great deal 
of thinking lately, and I Ve found so much to 
think about.” 

“ These people, you mean ? They ’re poor 
subjects for thought.” 

“ Depends upon how you look at them,” said 
Jean. They had stopped before Hapgood’s 
stall, and as he was serving meals to three or 
four men they waited. 

“How many ways are there of looking at 
them, Jean ?” 

Jean said slowly : 

“ Said Christ our Lord, ‘ I will go and see 
How the men, my brothers, believe in me.' 

He passed not again through the gate of birth, 

But made himself known to the children of earth. 

“ Then Christ sought out an artizan, 

A low-browed, stunted, haggard man ; 

And a motherless girl, whose fingers thin 
Pushed from her family want and sin. 

“ These set he in the midst of them ; 

And as they drew back their garment’s hem 
For fear of defilement : ‘ Lo, here,’ said He, 

‘ The images ye have made of me.’ ” 

“I suppose,” said John, “that those fellows 
eating at the stall are the ‘stunted, haggard 
men,* and this draggled one coming along the 
walk is the girl.” 

Jean leaned forward. The young girl came 


220 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


slowly with a dragging step, her face pale, her 
eyes cast down. 

'' Is that you, Bessie Lowther?” cried Jean. 

Yes, Miss, that’s my name. I lived in the 
Rents.” 

“And now you are moved to the other house. 
Do you like it ?” 

“Aunt turned me out, Miss. I ’m out of 
work this six weeks. I was dish-washer in an 
eating -stall and it’s broken up and I couldn’t 
pay my share, and aunt could n’t keep me. I ’ve 
looked for work till I ’m beat out. There at nt 
any work. There ’s too many of we, so there is. 
There ought to be a cholera or yellow-fever 
break out to carry us off.” 

Having thus unconsciously ranged herself 
beside Malthus, Bessie stood sighing hopelessly. 
Jean thought of asking her where she had shel- 
tered over night, but she had already learned 
that silence in some directions is pure gold. 

“ Have you had breakfast, Bessie ?” 

Bessie shook her head. 

“ Mr. Hapgood,” cried Jean, “ here ’s Bessie 
Lowther waiting for her breakfast. Give her 
the best meal you have.” 

Rufus hurried to pull out a high stool and 
to pour coffee. Jean sat looking intently at 
nothing. 

“ What are you thinking about ?” asked John. 


CARDIFF GRANITE. 


I2I 


“About what work I can find for that girl. I 
can’t take her to our house. She could n’t even 
wash steps or dishes to suit our cook or Mrs. 
Dali, and then our servants would n’t stand hav- 
ing such an untidy girl among them.” 

“ Of course not,” said John ; “ what does she 
let herself be such a guy for ? Why do n’t she 
know something well ? It is all her own fault. 
You ’ve no call to fret over her.” 

“ Oh, John ! what opportunity has the poor 
soul had to be anything nice, to learn any work 
well ? Suppose I had had no more chance for 
myself than she has !” 

“ Pooh ! why do n’t you say * suppose I had 
been Nebuchadnezzar ’ and done with it.” 

“Suppose I had, then,” said Jean with a 
laugh. The three men and the girl turned from 
their eating at the sound. That bubble of happy 
laughter, how strangely it came into the echoes 
of those grim, hopeless places ! 

Rufus Hapgood came to the wheel of the 
dog-cart, and to him as to Ridder John talked in 
lofty, condescending fashion, and tossed him a 
silver dollar when he turned^away, as one gives 
largess without heart therein. 

When the girl had finished eating Jean called 
her. “ Bessie, I think I can find a place for you, 
at least until you can do better for yourself, if 
you ’ll take it.” 


122 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“It’s not in nature,” said Bessie, “that I can 
refUvSe any thing. I can’t stop out o’ doors many 
nights.” 

“ Go around to 40 Peel Street and wait for 
me ; there ’s a sign out, ‘ Fresh Milk and Bottles 
for Babies.’ ” 

“ See here,” said John half-amused, half-sulky, 
“ am I roped in to go to more places with you ? 
All I bargained for was the rat-catcher.” 

“ I think you ’ll have to go, John, unless you 
leave me to walk and come home alone.” 

“Not much I wont leave you ; but the more 
a silly you, to get yourself tangled up with such 
people and places.” 

“ I like it, I am happier for doing something 
of the much that needs to be done. If I with- 
held help I think I should hear the great cry of 
the miserable rising up night and day, and it 
would break my heart.” 

“You need not have known a word about it. 
Aunt Prudence ought to be ashamed of herself 
showing you such things. Why couldn’t she 
leave you to be jolly and amuse yourself,” said 
John angrily. 

“I’m glad she did not, John. I feel as if my 
living would be worth something, and I myself 
would be worth far more than I was before I 
knew. I think, John, that when we live simply 
for ourselves and to amuse ourselves, that self- 


CARDIFF GRANITE, 


123 


serving must lead us on and on to self-destroy- 
ing. You see, when I am resting, or alone, or 
awake at night, as I cannot use my eyes, I think, 
and it is in this way that I think.” 

“ Takes all the fun out of life and makes it 
tragic.” 

Mr. Moultrie was reading to us last evening, 
and I remember this sentence, ‘ The world is 
always a tragedy to those who feel.’ Stop here, 
John, and let me get out. This is Mrs. Jen- 
nings’ Milk Depot for babies and there is Bes- 
sie.” 

Jean ran down into the basement. As she 
went she heard a woman who was buying a bot- 
tle of milk say, ” I do believe. Miss Lindsay, that 
this milk will be the makin’ of my poor baby. 
Says Jake to me, ‘ Suke, you buy the little un’ all 
the milk she needs. I ’m good fur it,’ says he. 
Ye see. Miss Lindsay, my other three jes wilted 
away and Jake seems real sot on this ’un. He 
ai n’t been drunk since she came.” 

“So you see, my woman,” spoke up Janey 
Moore who stood by, “ if you save the baby you 
are like to save your man too. A big strong 
wharf-hand like that can make good wages, an’ 
if he keeps from drink and you do your part, 
time will come when you can move into a better 
quarter and set up nice. But let me tell you it 
ai n’t only pure clean milk a baby needs, it is a 


124 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


clean skin and pure air. Your baby needs a 
good washing, and a good washing every day. 
Trip back with me to the kitchen and I ’ll give 
you a pail of nice warm suds, and you scrub that 
child clean. Then go home and scrub your 
room, floor, windows, all that’s in it. When 
Jake comes home have it so tidy that he ’ll get 
some lime and whitewash the walls for baby’s 
sake. Half days, if he ’s out of work, make the 
baby clean and get him to go out to the Park 
with her for a few hours’ fresh air. It is all in 
your own hands, woman, whether you ’ll have a 
nice home and a good man or not.” 

Janey and the woman disappeared in the 
kitchen, and Mrs. Lindsay turned with pride 
toward Jean. “ Weel, I ’m juist made oop, that 
ye heard an’ saw oor Janey. Dis’ na she speak 
by the book ? Is’ na she weel learned ? She 
reads an’ reads, nichts, oot o’ the bulks an’ papers 
her feyther brings hame in the rags. Janey ’s 
got a hall shelf, the room’s length, oop the stair, 
juist filled wi’ readin’. She bides here at this 
wark, on account o’ Aggie an’ me, sin Jock will 
no move oot o’ this. An’ mebbe the Lord is in 
it a’; for sure he ’s over it a’, an’ we may be keepit 
here for the guid o’ ithers.” 

“ Maybe you are here to-day for the good of 
Bessie Lawther, that girl out on the walk.” Jean 
hastily stated Bessie’s case. If you could help 


CARDIFF GRANITE. 


125 


her until she finds work, if you can help her to 
find work, and if Janey could teach her a little 
about being neat and so on, why, I ’ll pay her 
board, Mrs. Lindsay.” 

Noo !” cried Mrs. Lindsay holding up both 
hands admiringly, “ hoo do things juist fit in til 
ilk ither, pat ! We are thronged wi’ wark noo. 
The D^p6t takes aboot all Aggie’s time, an’ I 
never see sic a heap o’ claes as is in the rags, an’ 
oor trade is increasin’ too. Janey says to me, gif 
we could get a lass to help, wha’ would take oop 
wi’ her board and claes, we could fin’ claes eneuch 
for the washin’ an’ mendin’ o’ them, an’ it wad 
be guid schulin’ for the lass, to do the washin’ an’ 
mendin’ hersel’ under my teachin’.” 

Jean accordingly called Bessie in and ex- 
plained the situation. “Ye can hae a guid wash, 
an’ Janey wull gie ye an outsettin’ o’ claes to pit 
upon ye at once,” said Mrs. Lindsay, “ an’ we can 
mak’ ye oop a bed in the corner o’ Janey ’s room, 
till we see hoo things turn out. Dinna greet, 
gif ye ’ll be a guid decent lass, an’ bide at hame, 
we ’ll help you a’ we hae in our pooer. Whist, 
lassie, the Lord nae doot watches o’er ye for 
guid.” 

“ Well, come,” said John as Jean returned to 
the sidewalk. “ Are you ready at last to get out 
of this ? What did you find to amuse you in that 
basement ? The idea of your bidding good-bye 


126 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


to that low truck, Jean, as if they were your best 
friends !” 

They are children of my Father which is in 
heaven.” 

They rode on, Jean looking very thoughtful. 

^‘What’s wrong now?” asked John. 

“ I ’m trying to make a plan,” said Jean. 
“ Mrs. Jennings has Mrs. Lindsay give away 
many bottles of milk, and she gives out five 
loaves of bread a day in pieces to the little tots ; 
but they need more milk to give away, and that 
ought to be sterilized milk for the poorest and 
sickest. I ’m thinking, John, if I can have five 
gallons set aside at our Wildbrook farm, and 
have ’Mandy Ann, Mr. Kidder’s wife, sterilize it 
and have it sent in with the rest, and the tickets 
for it given out free.” 

Let me tell you,” said John, the sterilized 
milk, bottle and all, would be traded for a glass 
of grog. That ’s all the good your babies would 
get out of it.” 

I do n’t believe that people would be so bad,” 
cried Jean, tears rushing to her eyes, “ and Mrs. 
Lindsay could see to it.” 

People are just so bad,” said John. “ I 
flung out some cents and nickels and dimes for 
the fun of seeing the kids scramble in the dirt 
for them, and one kid got a dime. Just as he 
was being joyful over it a big red woman he 


GARDIFF GRANITE. 


I2y 

called mammy hove along, took the dime and 
went right into a grog-shop and bought gin. I 
saw her do it.” 

“What a hateful wicked world this is!” 
sobbed Jean. 

“ Yes ; you ’re idealizing these people. They 
are miserable because they are rascals, and you 
wont believe it. You think they ’re good. Not 
a bit of it. You ’ll find out.” 

Jean found out to the bitterness of her spirit. 
Poor Jean ! She took a long face to Dr. Imley’s 
on the morning of her regular bi-weekly visit. 
Her smiles were fled. She looked dreary and 
discouraged. 

“ What is it, Jean, my girl,” said the doctor. 
“Are you worrying about yourself? You are 
doing very well. You make progress. You 
can’t measure it, but I can.” 

“ It is not myself that discourages me, doc- 
tor. I can’t feel as if there really is any thing 
wrong with me ; it is those people — those men ! 
I thought they would be good if they had a 
chance. I felt proud that they were improving. 
Ridder’s wife is very nice, and the baby is get- 
ting fat ; I hoped they ’d come home well, to be 
all so comfortable and happy. Now what do 
you think ! Sime Ridder and Rufus Hapgood 
are off — drinking. Hapgood ’s stall and Sime’s 
room are shut, and they have been drinking 


128 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


two days. Wicked creatures ! I feel as if it is no 
use to try, as if I never wanted to see them again. 
They had been sober nine weeks, but now to 
think for it, when all was going so comfortably 
with them. I ’ll never again believe that they 
want to do right. It is plain that they just like 
to be bad, the horned creatures !” 

The doctor’s face altered suddenly as he 
looked at the indignant girl. From being a 
smoothed and pleasing mask, hiding many cares 
and weighty opinions under a look of genial en- 
couragment, it became as an open window out 
of which leaned the man’s soul, and showed him 
the scarred veteran of many spiritual battles and 
many a hard won victory. 

The girl faced him, her eyes clear and ear- 
nest, mouth firm and sweet, the chin strongly 
moulded, skin clean and healthy ; he noted the 
calm even rise and fall of her chest, the full 
and tranquil pulse-beats, like the slumbering 
sea. Even her indignation had but disturbed 
her fortunate physique sufficiently to deepen a 
little the pink tint of her cheeks. What could 
this vigorous, innocent creature, still on the 
border-land of childhood, understand of those 
stormy abnormal natures that struggled like 
baited wild beasts taken in toils ? 

“My child,” said the doctor, “come down 
from the judgment throne. These men may 


CARDIFF GRANITE. 


i2g 

be heroes, even though they fall. Believe me, 
any one of them resists more temptation in a 
week of decent living, than you are likely to en- 
counter in your whole life. How blessedly well 
it is, that in our Lord and Judge we sinners 
have not to do with angels, or even with our 
placid and little-tempted brethren of the flesh, 
but with One who ‘ knoweth our frame, and re- 
membereth that we are dust.’ ” 

I know,” said Jean, as her eyes fell, that 
you think I am a very poor person to undertake 
to try to help people — when I have no more pa- 
tience than this ! I ’m as bad as a child that 
squeals with rage because its toys fall over. Per- 
haps I should give it up.” 

Never, never, my child ; and from being dis- 
couraged about your struggling, failing men, 
do n’t go to being in despair about yourself. It 
demands often more of heroism to live down the 
small worries of life, than to face its great dis- 
asters. Whatever you do, do not deplete your 
working powers by worrying over your work. 
Remember what your Aunt Prudence says, that 
it is not possible to do our work and at the same 
time carry its burdens. We are commanded to 
do the work, and to cast our cares and burdens 
on Him who careth. 

I shall never be like Aunt Prudence,” sighed 
Jean. 


9 


IJO 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“ Probably not, she has been annealed in the 
fires of affliction and the deep cold waters of 
endurance for conscience’ sake. She has had 
not merely the trial of family coldness, and liv- 
ing exiled and poor, but other sorrows, even 
deeper, of which she never speaks. Do n’t think 
it needful to be just like your aunt ; every one 
is better for being excellent on his own pattern 
and retaining his individuality. Keep up your 
courage and work on. ‘ Youth,’ says Plato, *is 
the time for toil.’ Consider how worth doing 
your work is. I often think of a saying of 
Humboldt’s : “ Governments, religion, property, 
books, are but the scaffolding to build a man. 
-Earth holds up to her Maker no fruit but the 
finished man.” You are working to make man, 
generic man, embracing man and woman in the 
word, out of the little children you are helping ; 
and you are working to arrest man in his deg- 
radation toward the beast, and lift him into Chris- 
tian manhood. It is a good work that ennobles 
the doer and his object.” 

Jean usually thought when she left Dr. 
Imley’s office, that the mental good she received 
outweighed even the benefit of his prescription. 

A day or two after she drove down to the 
Rents with her aunt. Mr. Moultrie was in the 
buildings overlooking the work. Miss Prudence 
went in and left Jean setting in the coup^. Fur- 


CARDIFF GRANITE. 


tively peeping at her around a corner she saw 
Rufus Hapgood, while leaning against a wall, 
his hat jammed well down over his face, was 
Sime Ridder. Jean at once left the coup^ and 
went toward them, they started as if to escape — 
then lingered. “ I want you to go home, Mr. 
Ridder,” she said, “ your room is shut up, and 
you are needed there. 

“ Why, Miss, I do n’t feel as if I could face 
Miss Cardiff ever again — the light she tried to 
give me, and me going back the way I did! 
P’raps you do n’t know I’ve been — ” 

Oh, yes, I do,” said Jean with a smile ; 
“ you did n’t think there ’d be no one to tell, did 
you ? But surely you are not going to forsake 
that nice room and all the things you have put 
in it, when ’Mandy Ann is planning so about 
coming home with that cunning baby ; you ’re 
not going to drag them down, are you ?” 

Poor ’Mandy Ann I She alius forgives me. 
Miss.” 

“ All the more reason for doing the best you 
can for her. Go home and try it over again, 
Mr. Ridder ; do you know there ’s a verse in the 
Bible, aunt read it to me last night : ' Rejoice 
not over me, oh mine enemy, when I fall I shall 
arise.’ That 's for you too, Mr. Hapgood. Wont 
you go right back and open your stall ? Aunt 
and I would be glad.” 


132 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“ Last night,” said Sime, him an’ me hung 
about out of sight while Mr. Moultrie was play- 
ing and singing.” 

'' You be there to-night full in sight, helping 
sing.” 

''You really mean us to try it over again?” 
asked Sime. 

" Sure ; and trust more to God for holding 
you up next time.” 

That was not their last falling away, but Jean 
learned to have patience, like ’Mandy Ann, not 
only with these but with others. Bessie Saw- 
ther more than once wearied of the strictures of 
Mrs. Lindsay and Janey, and ran off to other 
quarters, even hiring out as bar-maid, and run- 
ning back at night, weeping with terror at a 
homicide scene. But coming she was always 
restored ; Jean had learned to forgive. 


'MANDY ANN, 




CHAPTER VII. 

’MANDY ANN. 

“ Leave the poor 

Some time for self-improvement. Let them not 
Be forced to grind the bones out of their arms 
For bread, but have some space to think, and feel. 

Like happy and immortal creatures.” 

On the last day of October a light spring wag- 
on drove up to what was popularly styled “ The 
New Rents,” because in them Miss Cardiff had 
temporarily placed her tenants until that syno- 
nym for evil, '‘Cardiff Rents,” should stand forth 
reconstituted and offering better possibilities. 
“ The New Rents ” had no broken steps, doors, 
nor windows ; frowzy heads, dirty faces, and rag- 
ged garments were to be seen in it, but as people 
passed its thresholds, no foul mephitic stench 
rolled forth to meet them. The majority of the 
children were in the public-school or in Jean’s 
kindergarten ; a nurse and a Bible woman made 
daily rounds, helping people, while yearnings 
toward decency sprung up in their footsteps. 
The room of Sime Ridder, a corner room down- 
stairs, had white curtains and a flower-pot of 
blooming geraniums in the window. The op- 
posite room was pretty well filled with steam, for 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


W 

a big, red-armed woman was washing. Nurse and 
Bible woman had vainly tried to introduce some 
order into the operation, she still heaped the 
soiled clothes on every piece of furniture in the 
room, and threw into her tub promiscuously, 
white clothes, calicos or flannels. The washing 
was big. She had six children, and also washed 
for some of her neighbors. When the wagon 
stopped, ’Mandy Ann Ridder climbed, baby in 
arms, over the wheel, and the lad who drove 
began to unload various bundles, bags, and 
boxes, wherewith ’Mandy Ann’s new friends in 
the country had laden her. The big woman, 
Mrs. Gess, abandoned her tub, gave a cursory 
glance at her baby tied into a high chair, wiped 
the suds from her arms, and bunched herself in 
full tide of talk at ’Mandy Ann. “ O my good- 
ness me ! Air you back, ’Mandy Ann ! I should 
say! don’t you look well! That the new baby? 
Ain’t it a nice, pert-lookin little trick! And 
how are you, ’Mandy Ann, I ’m glad to see you 
indeed, whatever.’ ” 

A swarm of youngsters suddenly appeared, 
coming from all quarters as flies to spilled sugar. 
Mrs. Gess beheld them swooping down upon a 
basket of red apples and immediately dealt out 
shakes, cuffs, slaps, with the greatest impartiality. 

“Here, ’Mandy Ann, tuck the baby under 
your arm and take a hand with me on this half- 


'MANDY ANN, 




bushel basket, or there wont be an apple left to 
bless yerself with. You young man, have an eye 
to them pertaters till we carry ’em in too ; these 
youngsters ain’t no wise pertic’ler what they 
gets, so they gets suthin’.” 

The young man who drove the wagon 
laughed, and from a bag beneath his feet pro- 
duced apples and walnuts which he threw out to 
the eager children. ’Mandy Ann also came 
back with five or six red apples which she gave 
to the most miserable - looking of the gutter 
pirates. 

‘‘Ai n’t it a pity,” she said, looking at the young 
man, ** that out there in the country the apples 
is fair lyin’ rottin’ on the ground ’cause they 
ai n’t quite good enough to sell, and all along the 
fences an’ pastures there’s logs an’ stumps an’ 
big branches, no end o’ good wood to burn, crum- 
blin’ away, an’ poor old women like you crip- 
plin’ round the street day in an’ out to find bits 
o’ fuel.” 

“ It ’s a plumb shame,” said the young man 
handing her the last of her bundles. “ I ’ve a 
mind the first holiday I gets to harness up a two- 
horse wagon with truck, like wood an’ apples 
an cabbage and turnips we country folks is 
wastin’, and bring it here to give away. Is this 
what you call a slum ? Well it is awful bad sure 
an’ certain.” 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


ij6 

“ This bad !” cried Mrs. Gess bristling up, 
“ why we call this most respecful ; yer jes’ orter 
seen Cardiff Rents !” 

Mrs. Gess began to help ’Mandy Ann to put 
her belongings away. Not that 'Mandy Ann 
needed any help, for she laid the baby on the 
clean bed and was quite able to attend to her 
own affairs, but Mistress Gess wanted to talk. 

Sime Ridder wan’t ’spectin’ yer to-day, 
'Mandy Ann, but yer see he ’s all ready for you.” 

“Ai n’t it beautiful !” said ’Mandy Ann. “ Yes, 
I had to come in when the wagon was cornin’, 
not to bother folks nor take their time. They ’ve 
been mighty good to me, so they have. I did n’t 
reckon on seein’ you. Miss Gess. Sime, when he 
come to see me, was so took up with the baby 
he did n’t hardly tell me a word. I laid out as 
soon as Gess got out of hospital he ’d be movin’ 
you to some other street, seein’ you only went 
to Cardiff Rents along of the pinch you was in 
with so many children an’ a new one, an Gess 
with two legs broke.” 

“ That ’s true enough, ’Mandy Ann, but yer 
sees this ai n’t nowise like Cardiff Rents was ; 
this is far an’ away better; an’ when Cardiff 
Rents is done over I tell you it is goin’ to be 
decent. Miss Cardiff she ’lowed she wanted 
some niceish folk to set examples here, an’, tho’ 
Gess an’ me do n’t claim to be over an’ above 


'MANDY ANN. 


137 


half-way decent, we reckoned we ’d serve her 
turn better nor most of ’em and be comfortable 
ourselves. ’Spose Sime did n’t tell you the news 
’bout Gess, did he now ?” 

'‘What news?” demanded ’Mandy Ann, as 
interested as if Gess was likely to have been 
elected alderman. 

“ Why,” replied her friend with great pride, 
“ Gess has went an’ got converted ! There ’s a 
Mr. Moultrie singin’ an’ prayin’ an’ helping round 
among the men gen’rally, an’ he got Gess work 
as soon as he come from hospital ; an’ if you ’ll 
believe it, ’Mandy Ann, him an’ Gess they sot 
one night right out there on the curbstone 
talkin’ ’bout Gess’s immortal soul, an’ gettin’ to 
heaven, an’ God-have-mercy-on-you, an’ all that, 
right on the curbstone if you ’ll believe me, talkin’ 
of things like that. An’ Gess he got converted 
then an’ there on the curbstone, mind you, an’ he 
come in lookin’ strange and sez he, ‘J’rushy 
Gess, if the Lord did all that for me I ’m goin’ 
to be his man from this out,’ he says, ‘ Him 
helpin’ me an’ if you ’ll believe it, ’Mandy Ann, 
he ’s stayed converted ever sence, though Gess 
never was so ravin’ bad as some men — right out 
on the curbstone, I tell you!” And Mistress 
Gess studied the indicated curbstone that had 
to her husband become a golden milestone on 
the way to the New Jerusalem. 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“Any more of ’em converted,” urged ’Mandy 
Ann. 

“No more of ’em ’less it’s ole Mrs. Martin, 
and she ’lows she ’s got glory in her soul ; but 
she alius was a good sort.” 

“ Wish Sime had got converted,” said ’Mandy 
Ann. 

“ Take an awful lot to convert Sime, would n’t 
it, now?” suggested Mistress Gess. “Sime’s 
terrible hard set.” 

’Mandy Ann filled a basin with apples and 
potatoes and requested Mistress Gess to accept 
the offering. Mrs. Gess thanked her heartily. 
“ Not that we ai n’t doin’ fairish well ourselves. 
Gess is workin’ an’ I work. I ’m willin’ enough 
to do my share an’ help out a livin’ for them as 
will help theirselves ; but if so be they intends 
jest to lay back an’ smoke an’ let me do all the 
work, they ’ll find they has to pile on for their- 
selves or go empty. ‘ Git up an’ git,’ is my mot- 
to, ’Mandy Ann. But I ain’t a faultin’ Gess ; he 
alius was a decentish man even before he and 
Mr. Moultrie sat on the curbstone.” Then Mis- 
tress Gess heard her youngest screaming wildly 
in the high chair, and remembered that there 
was a meal to get and a washing to finish. 

While ’Mandy Ann was thus welcomed to 
her new home, Jean was in her own room when 
John pushed the door open after a light knock. 


'MANDY ANN, 


139 


“ I say, Jean, I want you to help me down Dy- 
sart.” 

“ What!” exclaimed Jean. 

Dysart ; he ’ll be on his ear you know. 
I ’ve been expelled from Prof. Gray’s academy 
for young gentlemen.” 

“ Oh, John ! What did you do ?” 

“ Nothing. That is what he had the temer- 
ity to complain of. I made sure he ’d stand a 
good bit before he turned out a fellow of my 
money ; but he complained that I was late and 
absent and did not appear in my classes, and so 
on.” 

“ Oh, John ! Couldn’t you have tried.” 

“ Did n’t I say I would n’t ? Now I want you 
to stand up for me to Dysart a little ; he always 
liked you better than he did me.” 

“ Every one would like you much the best, 
John, if you took the least pains to make them ; 
you are naturally so much brighter and nicer 
and all that.” 

John laughed. “Gray didn’t think so, and 
I ’m in Dysart’s black books ; I ’ve been getting 
into debt. Who could get on with only twenty- 
five dollars to spend in a month? I say, Jean, 
I ’m out and it will be a week before Dysart will 
come down with any more. Lend me a ten ? ” 

Jean’s allowance of fifty dollars a month had 
been undiminished. She had found plenty of 


140 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

uses for her money : the kindergarten and the 
milk depot had taken much of it, and several 
pining little ones had had a country vacation. 
She had in her purse a ten-dollar bill which she 
had destined for a brief sea-side trip for Miss 
Belle Lacy and her deformed little sister Lois. 
Miss Belle had been so hard at work, so very 
glad to have the work all summer, and how it 
would rejoice Lois to see the autumn carpet of 
the salt marshes, and to watch the waves come 
tumbling in under the mellow Indian summer 
sunshine, or 

“ Where silently 
Above the sea 

Hangs calm and bright the hunter’s moon.” 

“ However,” thought Jean to herself, “ I will not 
make John hate my new ways and interests by 
refusing him. I never did refuse him anything.” 

“ Thanks,” said John carelessly, as he pock- 
eted the money. That ’s a good girl. Now I 
want you to do something else for me. You go 
and tell Dysart about my difficulty with Gray, 
and make it clear to him that it is no use to try 
to drive me as he is doing, or to send me to 
school. I like reading when I pick out my own 
books, and I like acting and reciting. I ’ll do 
well enough if he just lets me take my own 
way. You make that clear to him and ask him 
to let me run myself. Eh, Jean ?” 


'MANDY ANN. 


141 

“ I ’ll go tell him, and ask him not to be 
angry ; but I can’t advise Mr. Dysart what to do. 
He knows so much more than I do, and he is 
trying to do just what is right.” 

“ Old Molly Coddle,” said John angrily, he 
and Aunt Prudence are of the same stripe. 
Wish I ’d never seen either of them.” 

“ May I tell him you ’d like to go into some 
business or office to learn some kind of work, 
like other men ?” 

'‘No, you may n’t ; that ’s not my style,” said 
this golden youth. 

Jean departed on her unpleasant errand. 

“ What did he say ?” demanded John on her 
return. 

" He says you ’ve behaved very badly ; he ’s 
very sorry, and he means to take you at once to 
a military school. He says your trunk must be 
packed to-day.” 

" I knew you ’d make a mess of it ; it ’s all 
your fault,” raged John. 

" He said something about a schoolship too.” 

"A schoolship !” shouted John : “ study nights, 
work all day like a sailor, and eat rubbishy ra- 
tions ! no sir !” 

" He says he ’ll try that, if you get into trouble 
at the military school. O John, why could n’t 
you study with Mr. Moultrie, or be good at Prof. 
Gray’s?” 


143 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“ Now, see here,” said John, “ if it comes to a 
fight between Dysart and me I ’m the one that 's 
going to win. Do you hear that ?” 

'‘Yes, but I don’t believe it, John; because 
it looks as if you were taking the way to ruin 
yourself so poor Jean flung herself on a couch 
and began to cry, and cried until she had to be 
put to bed with a headache. This galled John, 
for he felt to blame for it ; he was further aggra- 
vated by entering his room and finding Mrs. 
Dali packing his trunk in obedience to a tele- 
phone message from Mr. Dysart. John’s wrath 
had to be poured out on somebody, so he sought 
out his Aunt Prudence, who was in the little 
morning -room carefully going over her ac- 
counts. 

“ See here, aunt, I want to talk to you. You 
are now tearing down the Rents to rebuild them 
lavishly.” 

“ Not tearing down,” said Miss Cardiff ; 
“ those houses were put up in the days of thor- 
ough, well -inspected work; the walls, founda- 
tions, partitions, sills, most of the timbers are as 
good as ever. Like the paint on the house of 
Jane Carlyle’s father, it was work to last for a 
century. We are putting in new floors, win- 
dows, drains, plumbing, ventilating-shafts, bet- 
ter chimneys, new doors, some closets — making 
things fit for decent living. The cellars are to 


'MANDY ANN. 


143 


be dry and finished, the attics finished, lighted 
and capable of being heated ; there will be no 
dark, cold, damp dens in the renovated Cardiff 
Rents.” 

*‘A11 that costs a lot of money,” said John 
morosely. 

“ I know it does,” said his aunt cheer- 
fully. 

“ Have you any right to use up our money, 
Jean’s and mine, in that way ? We are minors. 
You have over persuaded her ; /protest with all 
my might.” 

“ I am not using a penny of money belong- 
ing to either of you, John,” said Miss Cardiff 
patiently. “ Since my father’s death the portion 
of income he left to me has been accumulating 
in bank. I could not use it because I felt that it 
was unlawfully earned, the Rents not being con- 
ducted in a method that I considered humane 
and Christian. That money, every penny of it 
my own, a reserve no one else can claim, is the 
money I am spending on the Rents. I am 
turning it back into the channels from which it 
came.” 

“ Well,” said John doggedly, “ that may be 
so ; but meantime while all this reconstructing 
is going on we are out of income from the 
Rents. I expect the rent paid to you by the 
people you have moved into the other houses 


144 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


does not amount to more than the rent you pay 
for the buildings.” 

“ You are right,” said Miss Prudence, ‘‘the rent 
and cost of moving and repairing, about all.” 

“ Leaving us without income meanwhile,” 
said John. 

“ Which seemed to me no hardship or injus- 
tice, as the income from other investments is 
sufficient to keep our family on its usual footing, 
and we have been receiving from twenty to sev- 
enty per cent, on the capital in the Rents. By 
Christmas the Rents will be finished and fully 
re-occupied, and lease money will be not only 
paid, but more punctually paid by better tenants, 
and the property will be better kept up.” 

“ But not such good income out of it as be- 
fore. You are going to the expense of keeping 
each hall lit by electricity ; you do n’t intend to 
rent for lodging-rooms with several families in a 
room, or for boarders six or eight in a room ?” 

“ Most assuredly I do not. Such places are 
hotbeds of disease and crime.” 

“ What difference is that to us, if we do n’t 
catch the disease or share the crime.” 

“We do share the crime by fostering it in 
such fashion.” 

“And you don’t mean to let out the base- 
ments for grog-shops or other such little af- 
fairs?” sneered John. 


'HAND V ANN. 145 

No ; I shall lease to families or individuals, 
but not to keepers of dens of vice.” 

‘‘Well, you see, aunt, then you simply will 
be out of the very kind of renting that makes 
the most money for us,” said John, suddenly 
developing considerable knowledge of slum 
landlordism. “ Now you have a conscience 
against all this, but I have not, and a third of 
that property is mine, and my rights ought to 
be respected, even if my grandfather did make a 
crazy old will, giving you the administration of 
all during the time you survived my father. 
Father was a good many years older than you. 
Grandfather might have known you ’d have the 
handling of it to our detriment.” 

“ Possibly he wanted to give the city an 
object-lesson in both methods of managing — 
the purely selfish and the Christian,” suggested 
Miss Cardiff. 

“ It ’s a wonder,” said John, “that you don’t 
find it wicked to take any rent at all, and turn 
socialist, and divide up all that we have with 
those slummies, and let them riot on it as long 
as it lasts.” 

“That would not be at all in harmony with 
the teachings of my Bible, John. We must owe 
no man anything, must work quietly with our 
hands, eating our own bread. ‘ If any will not 
work neither let him eat.’ All this is as good 
10 


146 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


for our tenants as for us. The providence of 
God has given us property, and that property is 
tenement-houses ; it seems to me that all that is 
required of us is to charge fair rents and give 
fair quarters, neither pauperizing people by giv- 
ing them that for which they do not pay, nor 
wresting from their poverty exhorbitant rents 
for cruelly unhealthy and miserable quarters. 
The crying need of the time seems to be good 
homes for wage earners. Degraded surround- 
ings make degraded people ; filth, damp and 
darkness lower vitality, and weak vitality badly 
fed tends toward the development of vice. 
The workingman’s home is built for him by 
others, and his home must be near his work ; 
he cannot afford the luxury of a suburban 
dwelling, and it seems to me most cruel and 
entirely unchristian to take advantage of his 
situation to force him into the worst environ- 
ment possible. To give him a good home 
where health, decency and privacy are obtain- 
able is, I think, an act of patriotism and good 
citizenship ; also of sound financial policy when 
the prosperity of the whole community is con- 
sidered. I hoped, John, that you as a man would 
see and appreciate this.” 

This delicate little compliment to his stature 
and manhood did not mollify John. ‘‘And 
you ’ve planned another way of reducing income 


'MANDY ANN. 


147 


by lessening tenants,” be said angrily ; “ Moul- 
trie says you mean to reserve a first-floor corner 
room in each house for a kind of free reading- 
room, employment bureau, and so on.” 

“Yes, I do. I want the men to have a more 
helpful place to stay in than a grog-shop.” 

“Puts you out of the rent of a v/hole fam- 
ily.” 

“ But gives me the advantage of better ten- 
ants who will be in work, will pay their rent, 
and not cut up my doors and floors for firewood. 
Tenants, property, perhaps even income, will 
appreciate together.” 

“ What is there attractive in those wretches 
of the slums ?” 

“ Nothing,” said Miss Prudence promptly ; 
“neither the slums nor their inhabitants are 
attractive. They have no morals, no skill, no 
beauty, no decency ; the animals of any menag- 
erie would no doubt be more pleasing and win- 
ning ; but, John, it is within the range of the 
possibilities that in each or any one of these hu- 
man waifs ' Christ may be formed the hope of 
glory \ manhood may be evoked by the Ithuriel 
spear of brotherly consideration.” 

“ I wish that the homes had been insured for 
all they were worth and then burned down,” 
cried John, “ so we should not have had these 
vagaries of yours to contend with.” 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


148 

“The Insurance Societies would not take 
heavy risks on them, John ; yet, owing to the 
overflow of drains and the leakage of pipes, 
they were too damp to burn.” 

“Your notions of what can be done down 
there, aunt, are all a woman’s fancies. Men 
do n’t entertain such schemes.” 

“If you had read more widely on this ques- 
tion, John, you would know that since 1861 three 
benevolent men of England have had a whole 
village of this sort, providing good homes, 
abundant work, education, fair wages, and short 
hours ; insuring happiness, ambition, and a high 
order of excellence in the work. Weaving, 
stamping, dyeing, glass-work are done. Merton 
Abbey has reached the best work, the shortest 
hours, and the highest wages known. In Eng- 
land also a little town called Keswick is chiefly 
given up to proving that raising the physical 
and moral standard of the wage-worker raises 
the quality and value of his work. A gentle- 
man and his wife have given themselves to this 
fine form of philanthropy, helping people to 
help themselves, and Keswick is a town full of 
healthy, happy, industrious people. Worth do- 
ing, eh, John?” 

“Well,” said John sulkily, “there’s no use 
talking to you, aunt; you’re bound to go on 
until you run everything into the ground.” 


'MANDY ANN. 


149 

Listen to 


‘'John, you are fond of poetry, 
this : 


“ ‘ Say not, “ It matters not to me, 

My brother’s weal is hzs behoof 
For in this wondrous human web 
If his life 's warp, your life is woof. 

“ ‘ Woven together are the threads. 

And you and he are in one 109m ; 

For good or ill, for glad or sad. 

Your lives must share a common doom.’ ” 

“ I don’t know but I ’m glad,” said John, “ to 
go to military school or anywhere else that will 
get me away from this rubbish.” 

John having departed, rebellious and in a 
vile humor, Jean felt miserable enough, and for 
two or three days could rouse herself to interest 
in nothing. Then Mrs. Jennings happened to 
remark that Belle Lacy, who was sewing for 
her, had said that Lois was half sick ; that Lois’ 
twelfth birthday had come and was not likely to 
be a very cheerful one.” 

“ I might as well try and make some one else 
happy if I am miserable myself,” said Jean ; so 
she sought the quiet little home of the Johnsons 
where the Lacys boarded. She went first to 
the old playroom in the third story of her own 
home, where she and John had spent so many 
hours of childhood. It had long been locked 
up, and was stored with the multitudinous toys 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


150 

of wealthy and indulged children. Jean selected 
a book and a dissected map for Lois, then, hav- 
ing paid her a little visit, gave her ten dol- 
lars — borrowed from Aunt Prudence — telling 
her that she and Belle must take a four days’ 
trip to the seaside, and giving her the address of 
a quiet little home where they could find board. 
“ Be sure that you persuade Belle to go ; she 
needs the change badly, Lois, but you need not 
tell her so. The money is your birthday present, 
and I want her to take you on this little trip.” 

“ Oh, we ’ll go !” cried Lois with all a child’s 
eagerness. “ I never had a trip in my life. Miss 
Cardiff, and I never was out of the city but twice, 
then only to the end of the street railroad with 
a little teenty-weenty walk beyond.” 

“What, really?” said Jean. “How queer 
that seems ! Well, you must go now, Lois. You 
can sit on the sands and see the great white 
horses rush in from the sea.” Leaving Lois, Jean 
went for Mrs. Jennings ; then they drove down 
to see the kindergarten and the milk d^p6t ; 
after which Jean wanted to go to the New Rents 
to see how ’Mandy Ann was working on men’s 
overalls. She had no machine ; another woman 
in the house had made the great venture of buy- 
ing a machine on the installment plan ; she did 
the seaming and ’Mandy Ann did the putting 
on of buckles and buttons and making the but- 


'MANDY ANN. 


A5/ 

ton-holes. With 'Mandy Ann sat Mistress Gess, 
putting large and influential patches on the gar- 
ments of her numerous progeny. Jean had 
never before seen stockings mended by a big 
patch of rag, and she regarded the operation 
with some curiosity. Mistress Gess supposed 
that the young lady was admiring her work, so 
she kept it elaborately in view. 

“You were talking when I came in,” said 
Jean ; “ go on, I want to hear you.” 

“ Why, Miss, we was only saying as Miss 
Fenn was as like as not to lose all she ever pays 
out on her machine ; an’ buyin’ it weekly as she 
do, the price comes to her half as high ag’in as 
machines sold out and out, for I ’ve seen ’em in 
the winders marked.” 

“ I suppose it is a dear way of buying ; but 
how will she lose ?” 

“ The poor women alius do, an’ the way lots 
of these agent fellers make big profits. There ’ll 
come a week, or mebby two, when, do her best, 
Mis’ Fenn can’t pay ; so in comes the men an’ 
carries off the machine, and all she ’s paid goes 
for nothin’. Why, I ’ve knowed an agent join 
in with the man that give out the work, an’ got 
him to cut off work from a poor woman, just so 
sha couldn't keep up her pay, the very last 
month, and he swep’ off the machine, an’ she 
jes’ died of discouragement. The nurse up to 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


^ 5 ^ 

the Maternity said it was just clear discourage- 
ment killed her, when she could n’t see no way 
to keep her an’ the little baby.” 

“ Yes, an’ I knowed a woman, Miss, so hard 
put to it to keep her payments up, she starved 
herself so she jest give out all over at onct, and 
fell over dead ag’inst the machine she was tryin’ 
to keep her children on.” 

Jean turned pale with horror at these remin- 
iscences. 

“ So you see. Miss Cardiff, Mis’ Fenn stands 
a big chance of getting into trouble with this 
machine. If her son gets out of work she ’s sure 
to lose her machine, even if she works fourteen 
hours a day, seven days in the week. Eight an’ 
ten cents a pair is all she gets for overalls ; an’ 
’Mandy Ann, she has to have three an’ four cents 
for the finishin’ ; the finishin’ takes half the 
time.” 

“ But there are not seven working days in 
the week,” said Jean, surprised at Mistress Gess’ 
count, “ only six.” 

“ Mercy, Miss !” cried Mistress Gess, “ you 
don’t expect women like Mis’ Fenn to stop work 
Sunday, do you 1” 

But the Lord gave the Sabbath to us all.” 

'‘What for. Miss?” 

“ Rest.” 

“ Rest ! Why, ai n’t you innocent ! If the 


•MAND y ANN, 


153 


Lord did ever give us poor women Sunday, man 
has clean taken it away from us.” 

“What for?’ 

“For work, sure. Miss. Wages is ground 
down so that if we do n’t work seven days we 
can’t get food enough to stand up to our work 
the other six. Rest Sunday ! That would be a 
new story, if there was work to be had. Most 
of men’s work stops then, but women’s kind 
do n’t. Why, Miss, I wash ; an’ as sure as my 
name ’s Jerushy Gess I has more washin’ to do 
Sunday than any other day ; the men, some of 
’em, has no change of clothes, an’ being their 
work ’s shut down on Sunday, they gives me 
their clothes an’ stays in bed, an’ I washes an’ 
irons ’em ; that is, for them men that is decent 
enough to want their things washed at all. I 
try to get ’em real dry too, ever since one man 
nigh died of putting ’em on damp. But it ’s a 
terrible trouble. Since Gess got converted sit- 
ting out there on the curbstone — on the curbstone, 
mind you — he asked me not to wash on Sunday. 
Sez I, ' Why, Gess, ai n’t it religious for folks to 
be at least sort of half-way clean ?’ Gess ’lowed 
it was. ‘ Them men,’ sez I, ‘as h’ ai n’t but one 
set o’ clothes will have to go powerful dirty if I 
do fCt wash for ’em Sundays. Ai n’t it religious,’ 
sez I, ‘ to keep your promises ?’ Gess ’lowed it 
was, ’cause since he sot on the curbstone that 


154 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


time he overhauls the Bible Mr. Moultrie giv’ 
him. Sez I to Gess, ^ Well, I promised that wash- 
in’, an’ my word I hev to keep. I ort to do 
something that ’s religious,’ I sez.” 

Jean looked puzzled. Mistress Gess was not in 
religion much of a help-meet for her newly con- 
verted husband. ’Mandy Ann here interposed. 
“ Miss, if God gave us Sunday, man takes it away 
from us, for the way livin’ costs an’ wages goes, 
it ’s work or starve. But in the country Sunday 
was perfectly lovely, seemed just like the real 
love of God.” 

“ Yes, child of suffering, thou may’s't well be sure 
He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor.” 

said Jean softly. 

“ Here ’s Mr. Hapgood, he ’s well learned, an’ 
he never keeps Sunday ; he works all the time,” 
said Mrs. Gess. 

‘ My poverty, but not my will consents,’ ” 
quoted Rufus. 

“ Miss, your coup^ is waitin below here, it 
can’t get nigher the door ; there ’s a load of brick 
broke down.” 

“ Mrs. Jennings,” said Jean, as they drove 
homewards, “Gray says ‘the short and simple 
annals of the poor ’; he may mean the country 
or village poor, but the lives of the city poor are 
full of terrible tragedies.” 


WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL. 133 


CHAPTER VIII . 

WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL. 

“ Youth dreams a bliss on this side death. 

It dreams a rest, if not more deep 
More grateful than that marble sleep.” 

Not with the silent majesty of Solomon’s 
ascending temple, but with noise and tumult, 
dust and debris the work of repairing the old 
Cardiff Rents went on. It was to be done by 
Christmas, so that the tenants could move back 
before the holiday. The Rents were likely to 
be well filled, there were numerous applications 
for rooms. Jean had interested a number of her 
young friends, and with Jean and the others 
there was much looking over of cast-off play- 
things and books, so that every family where 
there were children in the Rents, could have 
such Christmas pleasure as tops make ; and Jean 
had set aside some of her pocket money to buy 
a plant or some greenery for every room, and 
had made a notable bargain with a down-town 
baker to deliver a loaf and a pie at every room 
on Christmas morning. Mr. Moultrie was drill- 
ing all the children of the neighborhood in 
singing Christmas hymns, and there was to 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


15^ 

be a grand ‘ sing ’ all through and around the 
Rents on Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning. 
The Kindergarten was to have a Christmas tree 
donated by the Sunday-school of the church to 
which Jean and Aunt Prudence belonged, and 
Mrs. Jennings and her friends arranged to give 
each mother that came for milk to Mrs. Lindsay 
on Christmas a bag of doughnuts and a quarter 
of a pound of tea. 

What delightful doings there were to be 
sure ! Jean was very happy, and could scarcely 
wait for Christmas to come. 

“ As John’s school has no Christmas holiday 
we will send him the best letters and box that 
ever were seen,” said Jean to Aunt Prudence. 

However people reckoned without their host 
when reckoning about John ; two or three days 
before Christmas the heir of the Cardiff, with 
his trunk, arrived at home, calmly announcing 
expulsion. Jean’s heart was fairly broken ; her 
John, her dear John, seemed bound to do the 
very worst possible for himself. What to Jean 
was the singing and laughter of the easily 
pleased children down by the Rents, if her twin 
brother was as Ephraim who destroyed himself? 
Of course Jean must carry out her programme 
and not load “ her people,” with disappointment; 
but all the heart and sweetness was gone out of 
the affair. John felt some remorse when he saw 


WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL, 137 

his sister’s pretty mouth droop sadly at the 
corners, and noted the pallor and the dark circles 
under her eyes, that told of wakeful nights. He 
offered to drive down to the kindergarten and 
help her trim the Christmas Tree. Not a great 
hardship when he knew that some of their 
young friends would be on hand to share the 
work. Jean gladly accepted his escort, and John 
bought ten pounds of stick and nut candy, which 
he tossed out to what he called the “ Slummers,” 
with a liberal hand. 

“Why not hand it to them,” said Jean, “it 
gets soiled falling on the pavement.” 

“ Let ’em rub it off ; they ’re used to dirt,” 
said John. “ I like to see them scramble for it.” 

He tossed Rufus Hapgood a half dollar and 
bade him “give a dinner to some lad who 
could n’t pay for it.” 

Rufus eyed the donor as he pocketed the 
donation. John was as tall as Jean, but he was 
less well set up, his shoulders drooped a trifle, 
his face was thinner, there were little hollows 
in his cheeks, and his eyes were sunken ; his 
complexion lacked the flush of health in its 
dark brown, his hands were long and ner- 
vous, his whole air listless, lacking in muscular 
strength and alertness. Not a lad of whom 
one would predicate long life or great useful- 
ness. 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“ The earth hath bubbles, as the water hath, 

And thou art of them,” 

quoted Rufus Hapgood to himself, looking at 
John covertly, with no favor. 

Mr. Dysart’s opinion was higher than that of 
Rufus Hapgood. That boy ought to be a power 
for good,” he said to Miss Prudence ; “ he has a 
prodigious memory, and great quickness of in- 
tellect ; his faults are the result of the unlimited 
indulgence and shameful neglect of his bringing 
up. How true of many men is that scripture, 

‘ He heapeth up riches and knoweth not who 
shall gather them.’ Men like your brother de- 
vote themselves to money-making, and allow 
their heirs to become idlers and weaklings, to 
waste their inheritance in a very few years, un- 
less they die before their prime.” 

True to his threat the troubled guardian 
marched John off as a candidate for a place 
on a School-ship, but to John’s great delight, 
he was cast in the severe physical examina- 
tion : “Not stamina enough. Throat in bad 
order. 

John went home triumphant. Mr. Dysart sat 
down to give his pupil a good lecture. “ John,” 
he said, “ I wont say you are going to the dogs, 
but it does look to me as if your methods are 
taking you at a swift rate toward that vault up 
in the cemetery whereof you have the key.” 


WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL. 139 

“ Pooh,” said John. “ I ’ll live to see four- 
score.” 

Unless you change your ways, my lad, 
you’ll live to very little purpose. Cannot I 
rouse some ambition in you ? Choose out for 
yourself some worthy line of life, and follow it 
to success. ' The world is all before you where 
to choose.’ The future stands fronting you, say- 
ing, ‘ Rise, oh youth, and wrestle with me.’ Show 
yourself an athlete in the struggle for the survi- 
val of the fittest.” 

“I do n’t see anything to struggle for, sir. 
Aunt Prudence is bound to wreck everything 
there is, the pace she 's going.” 

I tell you, John, not one dime of your for- 
tune will be impaired.” 

In that case,” said John, “ there ’s still noth- 
ing for me to struggle for ; I have enough and 
to spare.” 

“You are capable of devastating your own 
future and Jean’s too.” 

“ If I did that. Aunt Prudence would have 
to share with Jean ; and serve her right,” said 
the young incorrigible. 

“That’s all waywardness, boy, pure way- 
wardness,” said Mr. Dysart. “ I know there are 
lads who can bear the curse of wealth, they are 
made of pretty good stuff. The few golden heirs 
I ’ve had to do with have gone to destruction. 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


i6o 

If I had a son and a fortune, I 'd educate the 
son to do well in some business or profession, 
and give the fortune away ; my son’s dower 
should be the prayers of the poor.” 

“ I think mine is the curse of the poor, from 
what I ’ve heard of some remarks on a certain 
occasion by Sime Ridder !” 

“ You force me to thank God that I have no 
son ; and as for the fortune, I have never la- 
mented its practical lack.” 

“ I ’m sorry you all take me to heart,” said 
John lightly, “ but I ’m very well suited with my- 
self, and if I did wish to be different I should n’t 
know where to begin.” 

“ Begin with your soul. There is no strength 
in unbelief,” said Mr. Dysart. 

John whistled and looked for a cigarette. 
None of this talk made any impression upon 
him ; he had made up his mind to manage af- 
fairs to suit himself, but somehow he was not 
finding much enjoyment in it. He read distinct 
disapproval in the faces of old familiar family 
friends ; those of his young comrades who were 
really worth companying with were not taking 
his road and stood aloof from him ; while the 
others, who sought his society and eagerly 
helped him to spend his money, were those of 
whose acquaintance John felt a secret shame. 
He found time hanging heavily on his hands ; 


WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL. i6i 

there was no savor in the tricks and capers that 
once had been so delightsome. 

His very quarrel with the philanthropic occu- 
pations of Jean and Aunt Prudence drew John 
often to the neighborhood of Cardiff Rents to 
seek some fresh occasion for fault-finding. At 
such times, as Rufus Hapgood was the only 
really bright talker, John usually tarried for a 
time chatting by the coffee-stand. Rufus in- 
stinctively felt that Jean was mourning over her 
wayward brother, and while heartily disliking 
the supercilious lad on his own account, he yet 
wished him well for his sister’s sake. John re- 
minded Rufus of his own early days, the con- 
fusions of his wasted youth so Rufus looked 
curiously at the lad who was taking that fatal 
road his own feet had so disastrously trodden. 

Only he ’s going it at a far more rapid pace 
than I did, and has more money. Lack of cash 
brought me up by a short turn before I had 
ruined my constitution ; but here the cash will 
outlast vitality, or I ’m mistaken.” As Rufus 
summed up John’s affairs in this fashion John 
lounged along flipping a rattan cane, and some- 
times hitting therewith stray cats, dogs or chil- 
dren. All these followed Jean “ like a Highland 
chief’s tail ” when she appeared in the neighbor- 
hood ; they scuttled out of John’s way and gave 
him the entire walk. 


II 


i 62 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


“Still entertaining the public, Hapgood?” 
said John loftily. 

“Yes. ‘The world’s an inn, and death’s 
the journey’s end,’ as Dryden remarks ; but 
there are inns and inns ; some folks find their 
inn like the Continental or the St. Nicholas; 
but other folks find theirs no bigger than my 
coffee-stall, with leave to sleep under the counter 
and be kicked out come daylight. It is, in my 
view, according as we make it in our youth that 
we take it in our age. I did n’t think, when I 
fooled away my time and myself in my youth, 
that it was going to ‘ steep me in poverty to the 
very lips.’ ’’ Thus Rufus Hapgood, ex-collegian. 

“ We most of us find a way of getting rid of 
ourselves and our goods,” said John, “and why 
not take the way that has the most fun in it for 
ourselves ? My father used to say that he had 
observed that there ’d be two or three genera- 
tions of makers and savers ; then two or three 
of idlers and wasters. Seems to be so in our 
family : my father, grandfather and great-grand- 
father kept their noses to the grindstone most 
of their time ; for my part I like to make my 
money spin ; but the way my aunt is carrying 
on with her cash makes it go faster than mine ; 
and who ’s getting any fun out of it?” 

“ Fun ?” queried Rufus, “ I used to talk of 
fun when I was a ‘ raw and callow youth ;’ I ’ve 


WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL. 163 

seen the world’s black and sober side too thor- 
oughly since to have any place in my mind for 
talk about fun. I can tell you there are plenty 
of people getting life, good health, clean decent 
living, large hope and comfort out of the way 
your ladies are using their money. Hundreds 
of ‘ gutter-snipes ’ and ‘ wharf-rats,’ brute names 
that were given to human children because they 
were so like brutes, are now likely to grow up to 
be decent men and good citizens instead of pau- 
pers and criminals ; while dozens of neglected 
wretched little girls are going to be decent 
happy women, not inmates of almshouses and 
hospitals— mothers of criminals ; all that good 
is coming out of your ladies’ way of using their 
money.” 

“ But what good will all that do us when our 
money is all gone? tell me that,” said John 
querulously. 

“ The money will not be gone. This is a 
sound investment ; already this neighborhood is 
so improved, and the Rents are so improved, 
that the property is worth many thousands more 
than it was a year ago, to say nothing of the 
people living here being worth more.” 

“ The people ? They are better because 
better homes bid for a new class of tenants ; 
really the ones that lived here before have been 
swept out into slums a little farther off ; I 


164 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


don’t believe the people are any better,” said 
John. 

“ But they are, sir : mostly they ’re the same 
ones that was here before ; but clean air, more 
daylight, plenty of water, a chance to better 
themselves, a bit of hope, the encouragement of 
a friend or two, just a few gifts, and the finding 
of work — it has made them over. Say, sir, did 
you ever come down here in the old times of 
the Cardiff Rents?” 

“You’d better believe I did not,” laughed 
John. 

“You dared not. Life, health, your purse, 
your bones were not safe down here then ; you 
know they are fairly safe now. See here, sir. 
This ward, owing to the Cardiff Rents, was one 
of the wards where there were six hundred peo- 
ple to the acre ! Call that sanitary or decent ? 
Over a hundred rooms in this ward had five or 
more people in each. Call that proper, to stow 
people in that way, folks made in God’s image, 
stow ’em like pigs in a pen ? I tell you, sir, I ’ve 
been thinking of late. Talking with Mr. Moul- 
trie and some others he has brought down here, 
is widening out my mind some, as it used to be 
widened days when I was studying, and think- 
ing to be somebody. What was the conse- 
quence of that cramming ? Forty deaths to a 
thousand — fifty or sixty to a thousand some- 


WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL. i6s 

times — the coroner’s wagon, and the dead pau- 
per’s wagon were rattlin’ in an’ out here at a 
great rate, no one noticing. 

‘ Rattle his bones 
Over the stones, 

He 's only a pauper whom nobody owns.’ 

How that line of Hood’s used to keep humming 
through my mind as I looked on, and reckoned 
to be carried out by said wagon myself. Look 
up, sir, along the length of the street. It ’s nar- 
row, but you can see God ’s blue sky, and the sun 
shines in on it. Used to be that ropes and wires 
of foul clothes dangled across the street from 
window to window, until you could not see sky 
at all. More than that, landlords, to grab and 
grind their rents out of the swarms of poor, used 
to build little rookeries, leaning against the big 
ones— cart -sheds and horse -stalls they called 
them, and eating-places — pooh, they were places 
rented for tenants ; they had no floors nor foun- 
dations ; there they just clung, like rotting fun- 
gus to the sides of the other places, narrowing 
the streets and closing up windows. They’re 
done away with. Your aunt made complaints, 
threatened suits, brought suit two or three times, 
until the city scraped those fever holes off the 
streets of this ward. Ever been inside some of 
these blocks ? Gone under an arch like that one 
yonder, to see the middle of a block ?” 


i66 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“No/’ said John with a shudder. 

“You just ought to try it ! Houses in there 
piled up five or six stories high. Places were 
back yards or stable yards once, when these 
wards were lived in by well-to-do’s, and there 
were carriages kept, trees on the walks, good 
pavements. Those houses in the middle of the 
blocks, back and front — if they can be said to 
have any back or front — stand close upon the 
outside houses ; they get no light to speak of, 
their chimneys wont draw, the air they have is 
the vile stench that rolls out of the rooms of the 
tenements about them. Rare fever - breeders 
those inside houses !” 

“ Bad enough, very likely, but why should 
we be the ones to make a break ?” said John. 
“ There were other property owners, and there 
was the city. Why should we bear the whole 
burden ?” 

“There always must be a first reformer,” 
said Rufus, “ and some one to make a start. I 
think the Bible explains it in the verse ‘ a band 
of men whose hearts God had touched.’ ” 

“ But see here, Hapgood, you ’ll agree with 
me, that this is not work for women, but for 
men. Women really do not know how to use 
money. They are naturally extravagant.” 

Rufus glanced at John’s elegant costume, the 
diamond studs in his shirt, big diamond ring on 


WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL. 167 


his hand, the gold top to his little cane, and 
smiled covertly, as he thought of Miss Cardiff 
and Jean in their well -fitted black garments. 
John went on : 

“ Women undertaking this building work, 
this work of philanthropy they ’re so fond of 
talking about, go to such extremes. They want 
to put beggars in palaces — nothing is too good 
for their dear slummies.” 

“ You can’t cast that up against Miss Cardiff. 
Seems to me her plans have been as simple as 
may be. Is it too much to ask that rooms in 
which folks live should have ceilings not less 
than eight and a half feet high ? I ’ve seen 
houses where a floor of rooms fourteen and a 
half feet to ceiling, as the old nabobs had it 
when they lived in ’em, had a floor run across 
them, and turned out two stories of rooms less 
than seven feet to ceiling ! Those Cardiff Rents 
were fixed to crowd four families on every floor 
twenty-five feet wide. It is not very lavish, is 
it, to say that rooms rented for folks to live in 
must be at least twelve by twelve flooring room, 
eh? ’Bout as big as your dressing-room that, 
eh ?” 

An elderly man who had been taking a cup 
of coffee and a roll now spoke up. Young sir, 
this lady you criticize has only done what so 
wise a body as the Council of the City of Lon- 


i68 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


don has done ; and in fact she has not come 
nearly up to the line they thought fair. It 
would surely make your hair stand on end if 
she undertook improvements equal to them. 
I 'm English ; I just came from London last 
week. Let me tell you how the City Council 
there are making over a slum. First, as did the 
lady you are speaking of here, they hired and 
repaired houses into which the tenants of the 
houses that were to be rebuilt were moved. 
The new houses occupy only half, or a little 
over half, the space of the old ones, and the 
ground so saved is put into making streets 
sixty feet wide, and a round public garden 
nearly Ihree hundred feet in diameter — a 
breathing-place for the .slums, you see. The 
wide streets have trees planted on each side ; 
the garden has trees, seats, and a band-stand in 
the center.” 

“All that wasted on the slums!” cried the 
artless John. 

“ The houses, young sir, are not allowed to 
be carried up so high as here, only four stories ; 
every building is to have, before or behind it, 
an open space equal to its height ; and no 
building is to be over two rooms deep. If such 
rules were laid down by your common coun- 
cil the city would be revolutionized.” 

“ The property-owners would raise a revolu- 








I 




WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL, i6g 

tion first,” said John. “Not one of them would 
waste his fortune on such orders.” 

“ In the case I speak of, the city has bought 
the property at its appraised value, and made 
all alterations at its own cost.” 

“ The city is likely to bankrupt itself on such 
doings.” 

“The plan is that money invested in these 
changes must bring annual profit of three per 
cent., and repay the entire outlay, including pur- 
chase, in fifty years.” 

“ Probably the city won't light the halls, as 
my aunt does,” said John ; who burnt lights 
lavishly himself, and of all things hated a dark 
room. 

“The buildings I speak of must have halls 
lit all the twenty-four hours ; also the halls and 
stairways must have horizontal ventilation to 
the open air.” 

“ There are more fools in the world than I 
thought,” said John, strolling away. 

“ That lad is taking a short cut to death, I 
fear,” said the Englishman, looking after him. 

Rufus nodded, then inspected the travelling- 
cap, tweed suit, and leather gaiters of the Eng- 
lishman. “I don’t quite make you out,” he 
said ; “ folks of your conversation and build 
don’t usually eat at my stall or haunt these 
quarters.” 


17 o THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

“I’m writing some works on social economy 
and the labor problem, and I came here to in- 
vestigate. I have looked up England, France, 
Italy, and Germany, pretty well. New as this 
country is, some of its slums equal or outvie 
those of the older countries.’’ 

John had strolled out of sight, he scarcely 
knew what to do, or where to go. Nothing 
pleased him, nothing satisfied him. He was 
drawing water from an empty well, and won- 
dered that he had nothing to slake his thirst. 

John was out late at night, out all night 
often. No one knew this but Jean. Once or 
twice, anxious because of his miserable looks, 
she had gone to his room at night to see if he 
were wakeful or suffering, and had found that 
his room was empty, his bed undisturbed. After 
saying that he was tired, he had gone up stairs 
early and had gone out of the house by a rear 
door, trusting to his latch-key to let him in. 
John had set up the fatal latch-key before he 
was twelve. 

When Jean found that her brother was out 
of the house, she could not rest. Long hours, 
sometimes whole nights, she sat by the window 
watching and listening for her brother’s return, 
other nights she lay down and fell into fitful 
slumbers. What terrors she endured, fearing 
to see John brought home intoxicated, injured, 


WATER FROM AN EMPTY WELL. lyi 

dead. Once or twice she had seen him coming 
up the street, his steps swaying and uncertain, 
and she had crept down to let him in, help him 
to his room, help him to bed. These vigils and 
anxieties were telling on Jean. She had lost 
flesh, her eyes were heavy, she started if any- 
one came in or spoke suddenly ; Aunt Prudence 
began to be much disturbed about her niece. 
Constant disappointments wore upon Jean. Days 
when John felt weak and racked with headache, 
his sister would sit by him all day trying to 
comfort or entertain him. Sometimes John 
would be touched by this devotion, and promise 
to be good and go at some useful business. But 
he always broke these promises, which for a 
few hours had buoyed up Jean’s heart. Jean 
invited young friends to the house, she had 
music and refreshments in the evening, asked 
John to take her to concerts or other enter- 
tainments — all was useless, for these pleasures 
palled on John’s destroyed moral palate. 

Aunt Prudence appealed about Jean to Dr. 

- Imlay. 

“What are you breaking your heart over?” 
asked the doctor. 

“John!” cried Jean, with a sudden rain of 
tears. 

“ How old are you twins now ?’ ’ 

“ Sixteen, last November.” 


172 THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 

“And it is now March. Come to-morrow, 
have John bring you.” 

The next day Dr. Imlay took the twins to 
his inner office ; he prescribed various tonics for 
Jean, and then bade her to go to the parlor 
while he talked to John. It was a long confer- 
ence. John came out pale and panting. 

“Jean,” he said, when they entered the 
coup6, “ if you and Aunt Prudence do any more 
talking about me to Dr. Imlay, I ’ll leave home 
and never come back. He needn’t think he 
can scare me, to please two silly women.” 

“Oh, John, we did not talk to him about 
you!” cried Jean. “And if the doctor has said 
anything, you should heed it.” 

“ I can manage myself,” said John arrogant- 

ly- 

Could he? One day in late May John fell 
senseless from his seat at the dinner-table. His 
aunt, as she helped to undress him, was appalled 
to see what a bloodless skeleton he had become. 
In an hour three doctors were in attendance on 
the spoiled heir of the Cardiff s. 


ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA, 


173 


CHAPTER IX. 

ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA. 

“ What exile from himself can flee 
To zones though more and more remote.” 

Dr. Imlay came into the library where 
Jean and her aunt waited for the verdict of the 
physicians. The last year or nearly a year of 
divided interests and continuous carpings on 
John’s part had in no wise weakened Jean’s 
passionate love for her brother; perhaps her 
fondness had increased because his unrest and 
his failing health had intensified that maternal 
element which is a part of all women’s loving. 

Aunt Prudence was fond of her nephew ; he 
much resembled a little brother, the darling of 
her young days, who had died when he was ten 
years old. John also was her father’s namesake, 
the last upholder of her family name. She had 
held to the belief that a subtle change would 
pass over him, and that in a grand new life he 
would be co-worker and helper for her and for 
his sister. Could she now give up this dream ? 

“What is the matter with my John, Dr. 
Imlay?” cried Jean. 

“ He seems to have completely wrecked his 


174 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


constitution. When boys, not seventeen, ape 
the vices of ruffians of forty, they take a pace that 
is likely to carry them off quickly. Since when 
has John slept all night quietly in his own bed? 
How many cigarettes does he smoke in a day ? 
How much wine does he drink ? What days are 
there when he is not wrought up to a fever 
heat by gambling ? ‘ Ephraim, thou hast des- 

troyed theyself.’ ” 

And is there no hope for John ?” demanded 
his aunt. 

“I do not want to afford you false hopes. 
John, we all feel, has not more than two chances 
in a hundred for recovery — perhaps only one. 
He is very young, and youth usually affords us 
ground of hope, but in this case it increases the 
danger.” 

“No remedy for John in all the resources 
of modern medicine. Oh, doctor, can you think 
of nothing ?” 

“We are decided that there is but one course 
that offers any possible hope. That is a course 
you will think most painful, while the likelihood 
of a good result is exceedingly small.” 

“But what is it?” demanded Jean. “Try 
anything, doctor, do anything ; only save John.” 

“ Let me tell you, that if John stays here 
the very best treatment we can give him will 
not prolong his life three months; in fact, I 


ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA. 175 

think six weeks would be the longest time he 
could live.” 

“ Then let us take him away. Where shall 
we go? South, North —to Europe! We will 
both give up everything and go with him,” said 
Aunt Prudence. 

“ It would result in no benefit, I assure you. 
The one course that has ever effected a cure in 
the cases — happily very few — such as John’s 
that have come under our observation, this one 
course has been to put the patient under the 
care of a good captain, on a sailing vessel, and 
send him off on a voyage of many months. Un- 
derstand, this is heroic treatment, but it is the 
only treatment that has a hope in it. No nurse 
no relative, no coddling, no dainty stores — 
simply plenty of strong all-wool clothes, and 
putting him into the care of a judicious man — a 
captain who will have full control, regulate his 
duties by his health, never let him go ashore, 
and will as soon as possible put him into the 
rank, work, and maintainance, of an ordinary 
hand before the mast.” 

“Oh, doctor, how could poor John stand 
that?” 

“ If John gets where he can stand that,” re- 
plied the doctor grimly, “John will get where 
he may hope to return home, and attain to his 
majority.” 


lyd 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“Would John understand the need of such 
a course ?” 

“Our only hope is in making him see the 
necessity, and accept the treatment. If he will 
not consent to it, it is hopeless to try it ; his re- 
sistance and opposition would complete his ruin 
and destroy the very small possibility of cure 
this plan affords us.” 

“We certainly shall not antagonize any of 
your plans,” said Miss Prudence ; “ what ever 
you decide, we will try to carry out.” 

“ Our proposition is simply this : we shall 
use every means to secure some favorable reac- 
tion in John’s system and build him up so far 
that we can safely make him understand his 
imminent danger, and the sole remedy we have 
to propose. If John accepts our diagnosis, and 
heartily unites with us in our efforts for his re- 
storation, Mr. Dysart and I must search for a 
suitable ship captain to take charge of him at 
once. I should hope to get him off within two 
weeks.” 

“ Would he be strong enough to go so soon?” 

“We should not wait for him to be strong 
enough ; he would be carried on board, and 
given a part of the captain’s cabin ; and as he 
regained strength — if he ever did — he could 
be dealt with accordingly. Understand, if he 
does go off in this way, there is very little hope 


ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA. 177 

that you will ever see him again. I have sent 
for a trained hospital nurse, and we want the 
boy kept quiet ; you had better not go near him 
for the present.” 

“ Is there any hope of finding such a ship 
and captain ?” 

“ Dr. Long had a patient who was treated in 
this way, and recovered physically and morally ; 
he was sent on the ship Coral Queen, Captain 
Locke, on a voyage round the world. The re- 
sult was most happy in that case, it may be in 
this ; God grant it. Captain Locke is an elderly, 
kindly, Christian man, an experienced sailor, a 
good disciplinarian ; a man who puts his religion 
into his daily actions, and does his duty faith- 
fully. There is possibility that the Coral Queen 
is now in port, loading up for a voyage through 
the Straits of Magellan, so to China, then south- 
ward through the China Sea, across the Indian 
Ocean, round the Cape of Good Hope, and thence 
back by the Cape Verde Islands and the Azores. 
From a year to a year and a half the voyage 
will require. You could hear of John’s wellfare, 
if he does fare well — from numerous ports 
where the Coral Queen will touch. I should 
ask Captain Locke to give us full news as fre- 
quently as he can.” 

“ Doctor,” said Jean, who found it impossi- 
ble to understand her brother’s exhausted con- 


12 


178 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


dition and instant danger, when in her own 
veins life flowed in so strong a tide, “ I do be- 
lieve John would really enjoy a trip like that !” 

“There will be very little in it for a lad 
like John to enjoy,” said the doctor shortly; “ if 
he lives and gains in strength, just in proportion 
as he gains he will be put into the work, quarters, 
rations, of a common sailor. John wont fancy 
being flung neck and crop into such an ice-bath 
of events and circumstances as that ; but it is 
his only hope. In fact John is likely to come 
home a man, or not come home at all.” 

“ What shall we do to make him ready for 
the voyage?” asked Miss Prudence, hoping that 
Jean would have some work for her brother, to 
soften the sorrows and fears of this parting. 
Dr. Imlay, however, had his eyes solely on the 
good of this patient almost in extremis ; he re- 
plied briefly, “You can do nothing. 1 will make 
out a list under Captain Locke’s directions — if 
we find Captain Locke — and he will take charge 
of John. Mr. Dysart will purchase and pack 
the things. All you can give John is a Bible 
and your prayers. He needs them if ever a boy 
did.” 

Dr. Imlay went away leaving the two women 
to regard each other in silence. Aunt Prudence 
understood, as Jean did not, the very small hope 
for John’s life. If he survived to be carried on 


ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA. lyg 

board the Coral Queen, how very likely he was 
to be buried in those cold, tossing Atlantic 
waves! Jean was too stunned for tears. She 
had seen how John was fading away ; she had 
realized the fears for him of doctor, guardian, 
and aunt ; she had known better than the rest, 
of the nights of riot when John did not get 
home until the stars were paling, and of the 
almost helplessly drunken state in which he so 
often came. Yet he seemed so young to die, so 
young to wreck himself utterly, she had felt sure 
that the happy hour of reformation must strike 
for him. Had she done all for him that she 
could? Had she left and neglected him for 
these new interests and duties that had so en- 
grossed her ? She interrogated herself sharply, 
but could not find where she had done for her 
brother less than the most that she could possi- 
bly do. It was the old wail, “ How often I 
would — and ye would not.” Miss Prudence 
looked anxiously at her niece ; the girl was early 
entering the via crucis. 

Suddenly Jean turned to her : “Aunt, I sup- 
pose my mother had a Bible? She must have 
had one of her own, you know ; not a great 
heavy one, but a Bible such as you have.” 

There are in this Christian land, in this most 
Christian nineteenth century, most elegant and 
refined heathen, who know no more of the 


i8o 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


Scriptures than devotees of Buddha in the heart 
of Asia. Had Jean’s mother had a Bible ? Her 
daughter did not know. Miss Prudence did not 
know. She could only start, and say — “Oh — 
yes — I hope so. Where can it be ?” 

“ Because,” pursued Jean, “ that is the Bible 
John ought to have. I must find it and give it 
to him, as if our mother had reached her hand 
out of her grave and given her Bible to her son, 
to help him to do right. I must find that Bible. 
Up in the attic there are two trunks, full of my 
mother’s things. They were packed after she 
died, and father once told me they were there 
for me.” 

“ I know,” said Miss Prudence, “ nothing was 
packed up while I was here, because of the need 
of fumigating, disinfecting, airing everything, 
on account of the fever. Your father, or the 
housekeeper, must have packed those trunks.” 

“The keys are in my bureau,” said Jean; 
“ father gave them to me when I was fifteen. I 
am going up to look them over now.” 

“Had you not better rest? We have been 
awake all night nearly, while the doctors were 
working over our poor boy. Now that he is a 
little safer, you too should rest.” 

“Yes, after a while, when I am so tired out 
that I cannot stop to think any, then I can rest,” 
said Jean pitifully. 


ALONE ON A WIDE WIDE SEA. i8i 

She took the keys of her mother’s trunks 
and went up to the attic. The spring sunshine 
fell bright and warm through the dormer win- 
dows ; one ray lay across a small old-fashioned 
round table. Jean* remembered a time when 
she and John were little and had come up into 
this attic for a romp. On this round table then 
lay a large book with gilt corners and clasps ; 
John had pushed Jean against this table, and 
the heavy book, dust-covered, had fallen upon 
her as the tall slight stand went over ; Jean’s 
head was hurt, and she had screamed loudly. 
The nurse arrived, full of reproaches: “Such 
children ; hurting yourselves, getting all dust, 
upsetting things, spoiling your grandmother’s 
Bible !” That was the only time “ grandmother’s 
Bible ” had appeared in Jean’s life, until she had 
seen it, on that very stand, at the foot of her 
father’s coffin. Aunt Prudence had placed it 
there. Jean, owing to her troubled sight, had 
taken possession of the Bible, when it became 
to her a book of price, to be read and lived by. 
The table she had sent back to the attic. She 
thought now that she would place them both in 
Aunt Prudence’s room, and ask her aunt to use 
the grandmother’s book at their daily reading. 

Slowly then Jean knelt by the trunks and 
unlocked them. She had never opened them 
before ; there had seemed to her something 


i 82 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


pathetic and sacred about the relics of her mo- 
ther, who had gone away from the earth while 
her twin babies were too young to remember 
her. There were shawls of price in the trunks, 
boxes of jewels, costly fans, ball-dresses, dinner- 
gowns, opera cloaks, laces — Jean moved the rich 
fabrics and expensive trifles with a certain ten- 
der care. Young, beautiful, happy mother, who 
had gone away so soon ! How much had she 
known of life’s cares and sorrows? Had she 
ever heard that cry of the ragged, outcast, hun- 
gry poor? Jean had now some passages of 
Scripture fixed in her mind from her aunt’s fre- 
quent readings to her ; the cry of the poor re- 
minded her of Esau’s exceeding great and bit- 
ter cry, “ Bless me, me also, O my father ! for he 
hath supplanted me these two times: he took 
away my birthright; and behold now he hath 
taken away my blessing. Hast thou not reserved 
one blessing for me !” 

The thing we are the most eager for is usually 
the last found ; Jean had gone almost to the 
bottom of the second trunk, before she found 
what she sought ; at last, there it lay, folded in 
a kerchief, her mother’s Bible, bound in red vel- 
vet, with clasps and corners of gold, print clear 
and good ; on the fly-leaf, “ By this live,” and an 
“ H.” Who was “ H ” ? Some friend who had 
had at heart that young mother's good. Jean 


ALONE ON A WIDE WIDE SEA. 183 

sat Upon the attic floor, the sunshine falling 
about her, and eagerly turned the pages. How 
much had her mother read that Bible ? As she 
turned the leaves a dry sprig of geranium fell 
out, and next she came upon a faded blue violet ; 
then, in two or three places were passages 
marked ; no doubt her mother had found this 
gaudy world unsatisfactory, and turned toward 
heaven : at least her daughter felt sure of that. 

Jean’s' dark, beautiful, sorrow -bowed head 
bent over the pages that her mother’s hands had 
turned. “ Oh, God,” she prayed, “ have pity on 
my poor John ; cure him body and soul. Bless 
this book to him. Hear me, dear God ! I can- 
not give my poor boy up to ruin. Jesus, Sav- 
iour, be good to him.” Then a thought came 
into her mind of how two sisters, Martha and 
Mary cried out for a brother who had lain in his 
grave four days, and Christ had given him back. 
That comforted her. She restored to the trunks 
everything but the Bible and an emerald ring, 
and with these she went down stairs. She felt 
so faint and weary ; she wished she could read a 
little in that Bible, but she was pledged not to 
use her eyes in reading. She listened at the 
closed door of John’s room, then, awed by the 
deep silence within, she went to her own room, 
and leaving the door ajar that she might hear 
the first sound whether of good or evil omen. 


i 84 the CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

she lay down on her bed with her mother’s book 
clasped to her bosom. So she fell asleep. Noon 
came and passed, and the splendors of the sun- 
set flamed across the city before Jean woke. 
Aunt Prudence stood near her. 

‘‘John is awake,” she said; “he is a little 
stronger. He asked Dr. Imlay if he had any 
chance for his life, and the doctor said, ‘ There 
is one we hope, if you will take it and God 
blesses it.’ Then John whispered, ‘ Whatever it 
is I will take it — only don’t let me die.’ Dr. 
Imlay said, ‘ Keep calm ; trust in God’s help and 
we will try to pull you through.’ ” So the boy 
had fallen back into semi-torpor again. 

There were other such days ; the Rents were 
forsaken of their helpers, except for Mr. Moul- 
trie and Mrs. Jennings; they reported how the 
people there asked daily for “the ladies” and 
“that poor young man,” and prayed that God 
might help them. John, lying at the end of 
hope, with as little vigor as a new-born babe, 
and far less prospect of living than most babes, 
was “ the poor young man ” to the ragged, hun- 
gry folk of the Rents. 

Dr. Imlay and Mr. Dysart found the Coral 
Queen and Captain Locke ; a plain sea-chest had 
been purchased and filled with a seaman’s out- 
fit for a round-the-world voyage. John had been 
frankly told upon what forlorn hope his life de- 


ALONE ON A WIDE WIDE SEA. 183 

pended, and was eager to be carried aboard the 
ship. The day came. Jean sat by John’s bed 
holding his hands ; she was trying to be brave 
and calm ; time enough to cry her heart out 
when the lad was gone and could not be harmed 
by it. From John’s wasted fingers the rings he 
had been so fond of, slipped easily. Jean drew 
them off ; then she put upon the little finger of 
his left hand, a ring with a single large emerald 
in it. “ That was our mother’s, John,” she said. 
“ I took it from her trunk for you. And here is 
our mother’s Bible : that is for you, her only boy ; 
and I do want you to keep it and read it, John ; 
do, for mother’s sake, for my sake, for your own 
sake ! John, dear John, be good, and do your 
very best to get well and come back to me, for I 
shall never be happy until I see you again, see 
you a strong, good man, John.” John’s eyes 
were full of tears, answering the big tears that 
welled under Jean’s lids; she bent forward to 
kiss him. John quickly turned his face away, 
but pressed his sister’s dark head down upon his 
breast, and smoothed it with his feeble hand 
right lovingly. 

The hour came and passed. On a stretcher 
the heir of the Cardiffs, a wreck not seventeen 
years old, was carried down the stairs of his 
home, placed in a hospital ambulance, and so 
taken to the Coral Queen. Jean and Aunt Pru- 


i86 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


dence had bidden him “good-by” with what 
cheer they could while he still lay in his bed. 
He was gone, and the two cried in each other’s 
arms — “ for women must weep ” — and the larger 
part of their weeping is done because of men’s 
sins. The home seemed empty and lonely ; the 
going out of the lad had left a larger vacancy 
than when the master of it had gone out for 
ever. This ruin of John seemed such a needless 
waste, such a contravening of nature. “ Ephra- 
im had fed on ashes; a deceived heart had 
turned him aside.” 

The fair May day had drifted to its close, the 
electric lights flamed across and around the city 
as if crowning and girdling it with splendid 
jewels ; the warm evening air came into the 
open windows in long puffs, and the lace cur- 
tains filled and billowed and floated out into the 
gloom of the parlors, making Jean think of the 
full sails of a ship hurrying through the night. 
Jean and Miss Prudence sat each at a window 
waiting. Mr. Dysart had promised to return 
before he slept to tell them how John had begun 
his voyage. Mr. Dysart and Dr. Imlay had not 
only accompanied John aboard to settle him in 
his ocean home, but had gone with him on the 
start as far as the tug took the ship out to the 
open sea. 

Finally, after those well-to-do streets of the 


ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA. iSy 

city had grown quiet, except for the roll of 
wheels of occasional carriages, a swift tread was 
heard, then Mr. Dysart appeared plainly in sight 
and came up the steps. Jean hurried to meet 
him, and drew him into the parlor, holding fast 
to his hand. He seemed a link between her and 
her twin. 

“ Thank you, child ; it is late, I cannot sit 
down ; I only came to give you the latest news. 
So far, so good. Imlay and I got John aboard 
safely ; he stood it better than I expected. We 
put him to bed in a berth in Captain Locke’s 
cabin. When we left he was sound asleep, and 
his breathing seemed stronger. Captain Locke 
is a first-class nurse, and doctor enough for all 
that is needed ; sea-captains have to be a little 
of everything, you know. As soon as the Coral 
Queen drops far enough southward. Captain 
Locke means to wrap John in a blanket and keep 
him on deck in a hammock. Sea air, rest, giv- 
ing nature a fair show— we can do nothing else 
for the lad. Jean, John told me, as I sat by him 
in his cabin before he went to sleep, that as he 
would not draw his pocket-money while he was 
gone, he wanted me to give it monthly to you 
to use in what he called *your new fad.’ He 
said if you liked it, that was enough. So I will 
pay you forty dollars a month on account of 
John’s pocket-money. I gave Locke a hundred 


i88 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


and twenty-five dollars to deal out to John if he 
wanted to buy curios that were brought aboard 
ship in any of the ports they visited.’’ 

“ I shall spend that money in John’s name 
on boys of about John’s age,” said Jean 
promptly. 

John told me to tell you both good-by again, 
and that he was sorry he had made you so un- 
happy. Also he said, if he never came back, I 
was to see that Jean inherited everything that 
was his, and he knew she would use it very 
much better than ever he did.” Mr. Dysart 
stopped. Jean had given a long, low cry, like 
some wounded and hunted creature, and had 
fled from the room. They saw her slender dark 
figure pass shadow-like up the stairs and lose 
itself in the gloom of the upper hall. “ Faithful 
and tender heart,” said Mr. Dysart ; “ if her 
brother had been like her, or worthy of her, I 
should have been a well-contented guardian.” 

Darkness settled over all the house, the hours 
of the night rolled slowly by, the tossing waves 
rocked John’s ocean home, and the winds carried 
him each moment farther and farther from all 
the love and opportunity of which he had proved 
himself unworthy. 

For a day or two Jean seemed completely 
crushed by the troubles of the past few weeks ; 
her interest in herself or in her people at the 


ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA. i8g 

Rents slumbered ; she could only think of John ; 
she was needlessly taking herself to task for not 
having done enough for him. 

“ Why could n’t I have done more ? I ought 
to have been worth something more to him. 
Why has all my real help been given to stran- 
gers and none to John ?” 

“Jean,” said Aunt Prudence, “how much or 
how little you have done for him or for any one 
you cannot now know. Here we are surrounded 
by the unknown ; the real extent of our words 
and acts is lost in the infinite distances. We see 
but a little way into the future ; all earthly hori- 
zons are of a narrow bound. All that is asked 
of us is to do our best — ‘ to occupy ’ what the 
Lord has given us of opportunity until he comes. 
Things that seem smallest to us now may seem 
the largest, looming in the clear light of the 
Judgment Day. How little is a cup of cold 
water ! Yet Christ sets it as a gift of price, to be 
well reckoned of by him. That little box of 
ointment, worth but a moderate sum, has filled 
the ages with its fragrance. One silent look our 
Lord gave Peter ; yet that look lived in the apos- 
tle as the mainspring of all that he ever after 
was, and from Peter it has lived on in the church 
for nineteen hundred years a power for good.” 

“ If all that power lies in littles,” said Jean, 
“ I must not spare any more time to what can- 


igo 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


not be altered now, but must get back to my 
work. These people at the Rents may be worth 
as much to themselves or to others as my poor 
John is to me. Aunt Prudence, what do you 
say to having that forty dollars a month John 
left for me to use put into some place where 
boys can stay of evenings ? What do you say to 
a big room, warmed and lighted well, with a few 
things for gymnastics, a few papers, games and 
pictures, and some one to teach gymnastics, read- 
ing, and writing ? Perhaps our minister would 
go down there now and then with a magic lan- 
tern, and give them Bible scenes and travels in 
foreign lands. It shall be John’s gift. I should 
put up over the door, ‘The John Cardiff Com- 
fort Hall.’ What do you think of that ?” 

“ I like the plan well. Suppose we get Mr. 
Moultrie’s help and set about it at once.” 

“I think John would like it; I am sure he 
meant me to do something like that. I believe 
he was more interested in what we were doing 
at the Rents than he wanted to say.” 

“ Certainly when he comes back he will see 
that you have been no unfaithful steward of the 
money he left with you.” 

“ Mrs. Jennings was here when you were out 
to-day, and she is very anxious to have more 
done to help the little girls. She says that these 
working girls do not go to school at all after 


ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA. jgi 

they are thirteen ; when at that age the girl is 
expected to go to whatever work she is to make 
her living by. Yet many of these little girls are 
kept at home most of the time because they are 
thirteen ; kept at home to work, to tend babies" 
or because they have no clothing fit to wear to 
school. After these girls are thirteen, Mrs. Jen- 
nings says their only education comes from 
newspapers and from what they see about them. 
The papers that attract them most and are easi- 
est to get are usually the worst. I ’m sure they 
don't see very much that is good. So they 
grow up and do n’t know how to cut and make 
clothes, unless that happens to be the work they 
live by ; they do n’t know how to keep house, to 
cook, or wash and iron, unless laundry is their 
business. Mrs. Jennings says these girls know 
so little that they can easily be cheated and im- 
posed upon by the Sweaters, and that while hun- 
dreds of these poor little helpless, ignorant girl- 
children are turned out into the world to earn 
their own living, there are dozens of cruel men 
who grow rich by playing all manner of tricks 
on them, grinding down their wages, taxing 
them, fining them, changing the marks on their 
piece-work. Why, Aunt Prudence, while Mrs. 
Jennings was here talking my very blood ran 
cold, cold, as I thought of the miseries of my 
poor little sisters !” 


ig2 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

Jean’s eyes blazed and her cheeks flushed ; 
in the woes of “ her little sisters ” she had for a 
time forgotten the case of her wayward brother. 

There is a law about a certain number of 
month’s yearly schooling,” said Miss Cardiff. 

“ It is a law more often evaded than heeded, 
I fear,” said Mr. Moultrie, who had come in. 
“ Boys are something like those open sins that 
go beforehand into judgment ; when they are 
not in school, they are ravaging the streets, and 
the exasperated policemen seize or make a note 
of them, so back to school they go. But the 
girls are like the sins that follow after, and reap 
their harvest in a long by-and-by, for the girls 
hide in the houses and for a long time are for- 
gotten.” 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEE! 


193 


CHAPTER X. 

WHAT IS THAT TO THEE! 

“ I do not ask my cross to understand, 

My way to see : 

Better in darkness just to feel thy hand, 

And follow thee.” 

After Miss Cardiff had removed her tenants 
from the houses which she had hired for them 
for six months while she was repairing the 
Rents, old Mr. Gridley had secured an agent 
and rented his property in the most reckless 
tenement-house fashion. The care v/hich Miss 
Cardiff had expended in the sanitation of the 
buildings was soon forgotten, cleanliness and 
ventilation were at a discount. Windows were 
broken, refuse encumbered the passage-ways, 
the drains were stopped, the stair ballusters had 
been used for fuel during the February cold, 
and many of the thresholds had followed them. 
The basements were rented for an opium-joint, 
a dive, a beer-hall, and a grog-shop; families 
were allowed to rent one room and receive 
into it men lodgers. Those deeper depths of 
deepest depths, the boarding or lodging-rooms, 
flourished ; the agent felt sure of making sixty 
or seventy per cent, on the invested money 
13 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


194 

when all the large rooms were rookeries. Win- 
ter only was waited for to witness the disappear- 
ance of doors, steps, and baseboards ; there had 
already, in six months, been a murder, a suicide, 
two mysterious deaths, two deaths of children 
“from inanition ” — in plain English, neglect and 
starvation. A number of arrests had occurred 
for burglary, assault, and pocket-picking ; in 
fact, the property of Mr. Gridley was rivalling 
the reputation of Cardiff Rents in its evil prime. 
Miss Cardiff found her zealous care for the im- 
provement of her tenants antagonized in every 
step by the enormities fostered in the Gridley 
tenements. Something must be done. 

Miss Cardiff gave a small dinner in mid- 
June. There were present Mr. Dysart, Dr. and 
Mrs. Imlay, Mr. and Mrs. Carl Jennings, Miss 
Cardiff’s pastor. Dr. Yancy, and his wife; these 
with Jean and Mr. Moultrie filled the table over 
which Miss Prudence Cardiff presided. What 
had been done and what could be done at the 
Rents was discussed, and Miss Cardiff gave a 
succinct report of the money expended and in- 
vested, with the income now received from the 
buildings. 

“It is improving property,” said Miss Pru- 
dence, “ and the income is not only fair, but 
while not exorbitant, it is good — more than 
would be realized from bank stock, railroad 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEE! 195 

shares, or government bonds. Much more good 
might be done, and the whole neighborhood 
improved, if we could wipe out the iniquities of 
the Gridley tenement-houses. From them dis- 
ease and debauchery spread ; the men and wo- 
men of the quarter are tempted ; the children 
have immoral examples, the women and girls 
are terrified, and respectable tenants are driven 
away. Mr. Moultrie suggested to me that a 
syndicate might be formed to purchase Mr. 
Gridley’s property. If we buy now, before de- 
struction goes further, we shall have less to lay 
out in repairs and sanitation.” 

Said Mr. Moultrie : “I have lately received 
a little money, ten thousand dollars, left me by 
an aunt in Scotland who had been very hostile 
to my parents ; I told Miss Cardiff that if others 
could be found to make up the needed purchase- 
money for the Gridley houses, I would gladly 
put this little fortune of mine into the purchase- 
fund.” 

I could also put in ten thousand,” said Miss 
Cardiff. 

I believe it is both noble philanthropy and 
a good business investment,” said Mr. Dysart; 
“ and as I have fifteen thousand that I can con- 
vert promptly, I will be one of the purchasers 
of these buildings, if we who purchase are 
agreed to conduct the enterprise as Cardiff 


ig6 THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 

Rents are now conducted, in the interest of 
humanity.” 

“As a minister,” said Dr. Yancy, “ I am not 
expected to be very rich : ‘ the Lord is the in- 
heritance of Levi but Mrs. Yancy and I have 
five thousand that we can invest here, and I 
think I can interest one of my church officers 
who can take a much larger part in the mat- 
ter.” 

Dr. Imlay and Mr. Carl Jennings were also 
ready to be among the purchasers of the Grid- 
ley property, and Mr. Jennings was appointed 
to visit the old gentleman, acquaint him with 
the enormities which were being committed 
under the shadow of his name, and request him 
to sell his property at its proper valuation to the 
proposed partners in the purchase. 

“ I don’t suppose,” said Dr. Yancy, “ that the 
old gentleman has any idea how affairs go down 
there ; he kept the places closed because he did 
not feel able to prepare them for habitation ; 
and after Miss Cardiff had put them in order, 
he found it easy to turn them over to an agent. 
He is an amiable old man, and very feeble.” 

“We shall not find him ill to deal with, I 
think,” said Miss Prudence ; “he made no effort 
to drive a hard bargain with me, in fact, he was 
very reasonable, and told me he was interested 
in the experiment, and that if he were in his 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEE! igy 

prime again he would like to undertake a work 
of the kind himself.” 

How often,” said Dr. Yancy, “do people at 
the end of life turn for a backward look, and 
vainly wish that their energies had been life 
long directed to different ends ! They see the 
nch harvests others are reaping, and wish that 
their seed-sowing had been other than it was. 
As, no doubt, this property will speedily come 
into our hands, what shall we do about it?” 

“Turn out the agent,” said Mr. Dysart. 
“ The agents who handle these tenement-houses 
are usually harder upon the poor than the land- 
lords would be if they took the trouble to learn 
the facts in the case.” 

“The facts in the case are so terrible,” said 
Mr. Moultrie, “that they would destroy the 
sleep and appetite of the landlords, and so they 
must have as intermediary, an agent who is 
less fastidious. The house agents and the mid- 
dlemen or sweaters of the workers, are as ‘ the 
kine of Bashan, which crush the needy.’ They 
remind me of that incident in the life of Silvio 
Pellico, when after long years in the terrible 
Spielberg Prison he was released, and when 
passing through Vienna his conductors made 
haste to turn him from the path of the Emperor, 
lest his wan, emaciated face might 'distress ’ the 
monarch who had so long and unjustly impris- 


ig8 THE CAE BIFF ESTA TE. 

oned him ! The sensitiveness of landlords who 
cheerfully receive from twenty-five to fifty and 
even eighty per cent, on slum rents, reminds me 
of the sensitiveness of the Emperor of Austria.” 

“ Of course we do not want an agent,” said 
Mr. Dysart ; “we want to come into contact and 
knowledge ourselves. The next step, I should 
say, would be to clear out those cellars. No 
more rent for abominations. Then the lodging 
or boarding rooms, packed full of corrupt and 
corrupting humanity, must be cleared out ; also 
once more the work of sanitation and improv- 
ing and embellishing must be done.” 

“Embellishing?” questioned Dr. Gancy. “1 
like the word in that connection ; but explain 
it, if I am to talk up this investment to some of 
my solid men.” 

“Our embellishment,” said Miss Cardiff, 
“ consists in paint of attractive colors, tinted cal- 
somine or lime-wash, and brightly flowered wall- 
paper, ‘where we put paper on.” 

“Dr. Gancy,” said Jean, “it is enough to 
make one cry sometimes, to see how eager those 
poor people are for a little beauty in their homes. 
The children bring in any fading branch or 
flowers that they find about the streets, and if it 
is a slip that can be made to grow, in a rusty 
tin can or an old broken cup or bowl, you should 
see the care taken of it ! Colored cards or ad- 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEE! ipp 

vertisement pictures are picked up in the streets, 
and stuck up on the dirty, ragged walls. They 
long for beauty as much as we do ; they may 
have different ideas of what beauty is, and what 
to us seems gaudy is to them lovely ; that is be- 
cause they have had no opportunities to cultivate 
taste. I know one room where all manner of frag- 
ments of broken china, pretty china bits from 
rich people’s ash barrels, are set up along the 
window frames as a choice ornamentation ; and 
another, where the red and yellow ribbons from 
cigars, such as are swept into the streets and 
waste baskets, have been picked up and hung 
along the walls.” 

“Jean has made a clearance of her old play- 
room and our attic, as far as pictures and any 
thing in the way of ornament could be found,” 
said Miss Prudence. 

“I think she has set hundreds of slips in 
our green-house, and as soon as they were grow- 
ing well has given them to the people down in 
the Rents and near there. Once we clear out 
the nuisances in the Gridley building we will in- 
troduce beauty there. I think of providing the 
windows with outside window boxes for flowers ; 
that is done in England in many places, with 
the best effect— not only in making the homes 
and streets more attractive, but in improving 
the manners and morals of the inhabitants. 


200 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


Christ’s lesson, ‘ Consider the lilies how they 
grow,’ was not the only flower lesson he gave 
his children.” 

“We will remember the craving for beauty 
there,” said Dr. Gancy. “Tell me, are your 
tenants destructive ? I have heard so many say 
that it was idle to restore such properties much, 
as the occupants would destroy as fast as one 
improved.” 

“ In my observation, and I have taken pains 
to inform myself fully, half the tenants are not 
destructive ; and of that half there will be 
perhaps half, who will try to mend and keep 
affairs in order ; they will paste on loose paper, 
nail down loose boards, putty up a cracked win- 
dow. The destructive careless, fifty per cent., are 
easily handled : you can coax or scare them into 
a certain amount of carefulness ; threats of eject- 
ment, or of a suit for ‘wanton destruction of 
property,’ will, added to the example of the 
careful half, keep them in line.” 

“ I was discussing this question lately with 
a house owner, and he said that it was kindness 
wasted to fix up rooms for sneak thieves, pick- 
pockets, and that ilk,” said Mr. Carl Jennings. 

“ The answer to that is easy,” said Mr. Dy- 
sart : “ thief or not, if he is accepted as a tenant, 
and pays his rent he has a right to a tenant’s 
proper privileges ; he has a right to a whole 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEE! 201 

floor ; to a window that will open and shut, to 
a safe staircase, and a chimney that will draw. 
The landlord who takes his eight, ten, or twelve 
dollars a month, and does not give him fair re- 
turn in proper housing, simply puts himself in 
the same category as his thief tenant.” 

“ Speaking of agents,” said Mr. Moultrie, 
“there is to be found in many of those tenement- 
houses a pernicious class doing more harm than 
good — a person called a ‘ janitor ’ or ' housekeep- 
er,’ is given a room, and supposed to keep the 
halls clean and oversee the state of drains, 
closets and water-pipes. There is seldom any 
decent care taken to get clean orderly people for 
these positions ; a vote or some other concession, 
is paid for by the appointment, and the jani- 
tor or housekeeper neglects all the supposed 
duties of the position, keeps the most filthy 
room on the premises, and is sure to make no 
reports about closed drains and defective sewage 
system, that might seem to be a call for ex- 
pense upon agent or landlord.” 

“If we can get Gridley property into our 
hands,” said Miss Prudence, “ we will make Mr. 
Gess janitor there. That man is earnest to do 
good, a sincere Christian, I think. It is wonderful 
what an amount of kindness he can do among 
his neighbors, though he works early and late 
at hard, poorly paid work, to maintain his family. 


202 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


More than once he has given away his dinner to 
some breakfastless fellow-laborer, on the ground 
that as he has had breakfast, and was sure of sup- 
per, he ought to share the day’s meals in some 
way. Yet no doubt it is hard to work as masons’ 
tender all day, dinnerless.” 

Miss Jean,” said Remech the butler, com- 
ing behind his young lady’s chair, there ’s a man 
wants to see you, a very common looking person, 
miss, says his name is Gess. He insisted I must 
tell you ; but really, miss, he is not worth your 
attending to.” 

Remech the old family servant having thus 
announced his views, returned to his stand by 
the side-board. The party at the table had sat 
talking long after the last course of the dessert 
had been served and now rose to go to the parlors, 
while Jean gave orders that Gess should come 
up into the hall to speak with her. 

Down at the Rents, or any other part of the 
Kelso Street neighborhood, Gess could speak 
frankly and clearly to Miss Cardiff or Jean ; his 
foot was on his native heath, he realized his 
own good intentions, and stood unabashed. 
On the contrary he was now much overwhelmed 
when he beheld Jean in her dinner dress, coming 
down the hall to meet him. He had hitherto seen 
her only in the severely simple elegance of her 
black raiment, dress so good that it looked plain- 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEE! 


20S 


ness itself. Now she wore a white gown trimmed 
with black lace and black ribbons; she moved 
noislessly over the velvet carpet, above her head 
glowed the richly frescoed ceiling, pictures of 
price were on the walls about her ; bronze and 
marble statuary peered here and there from stair- 
way niches, or stood transfigured in the splendor 
of colored light, streaming through a great 
stained glass door that opened into the conser- 
vatory. Gess was so overawed by all this hith- 
erto unimagined magnificence, that he could 
not speak. He held his old felt hat in his two 
hands, and his eyes searched anxiously the 
depths of the bent crown, for a statement of his 
errand ; finding nothing, he slowly turned the hat 
over, with a care that suggested fears lest the 
unfound help should be yet lurking inside and 
drop out. He closely studied the outside of the 
crown and brim, then turned the hat over again 
and passed the rim around and around between 
his fingers. 

“ Well, Mr. Gess ?” said Jean encouragingly. 

“ It ’s about Mrs. Fenn,” said Gess suddenly. 
“ 'Mandy Ann Ridder said as you 'd not want 
things to go'on without your knowing of it.” 

‘‘Certainly not,” said Jean catching at this 
vague statement ; “is Mrs. Fenn sick?” 

“You see Nat, that’s her oldest, sixteen. Well, 
I got him a place as masons’ tender — much too 


204 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


heavy for a lad, but it was that or nothin’; an’ 
bein orkard, why he let slip a hod-full o’ brick, 
an’ broke his foot, an’ got took to the ’ospital 
three week ago. Hospital ’s a nice place, but Nat, 
he needed work an’ wages, you see.” 

“ I see,” said Jean overwhelmed with grief 
and shame ‘ that one of her people ’ had been in 
so dire a strait and she had not known of it. 
But she had been occupied with John and her 
private sorrows, and had of late only been to the 
Milk D6p6t and the kindergarten. How poor 
a steward had she been for her Lord, this month 
past !” 

“ Why did n’t you tell my aunt. Miss Cardiff ?” 

“ Well, miss, you see, she has done so much 
for us all, an’ we fair hates to seem like we ’re fail- 
in’ back on her all the time ; an’ alius in a hole 
fur her to pull us out. We might as well be drunk 
an’ incapable an’ done with it, barrin’ the wicked- 
ness.” 

“We want to know all and help all that we 
can. How is Mrs. Fenn ?” 

“ You see, miss,” said Gess, laboriously re- 
suming his tale, “Joe, fourteen, works with the 
butcher, an’ gets his board ; an’ he gets enough 
to pay the rent. What clothes Joe, I don’t 
know, only he pays the rent. Peggy, she gets 
her board an’ clothes workin’ out ; she ’s twelve, 
an’ there ’s three more little ones to home to be 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEE I 203 

fed an’ covered ; so, when Ned got hurt, it took 
all Miss Fenn ar’n’t to put a bite in four mouths 
an’ she fell back with her payin’ on that ma- 
chine. Forty hard-aimed dollars, got of half 
starvin’ an’ hard workin’, she’s paid, an’ ten 
more was to be paid. I ’ll allow, miss, if you or 
anybody with a full pocket-book went to that 
machine-shop, they would have sold you the 
thing for thirty-five or forty ; but fifty it was to 
her — for as the Holy Book says, ‘the destruc- 
tion of the poor is their poverty.’ So, miss, 
three weeks ago Mrs. Fenn she couldn’t pay 
her weekly installment. The agent he growled. 
Next time it was the same, an’ she beggin’ an’ 
pleadin’ for him to be easy on her. To-day he 
comes again, an’ bein’ there was no money, sez 
he, ‘ That money is due to-morrer, five dollars,’ 
he sez, ‘ an’ as you do n’t have it,’ he sez, ‘ I ’m 
cornin’ with a cart and take the machine ; mind 
you I do.’ That same agent, miss, he is one of 
those that the Holy Book say do ‘pant after 
the dust of the earth on the heads of the 
poor!” 

But,” said Jean, who dwelt habitually in 
the atmosphere of the seventh beatitude, “ He 
did wait two weeks, you see.” 

“ True, miss, and if I ’m wrong judging him, 
may the Lord forgive me, for the Holy Book 
says, ‘Judge not that ye be not judged,’ and 


2o6 the CARDIFF ESTATE. 

plenty are the sins of Peter Gess — if the Lord 
goes to counting up. Also the Holy Book says, 

‘ Charity thinketh no evil,’ and mebbe I ’m 
wronging that agent when I lay it out that he 
jes’ let it run up a purpose, to be more ’n Mis’ 
Fenn would be able to beg or to borrow, and 
him then sure of that machine, on which she, 
poor soul, has paid its hull wuth of forty dollars, 
worked, as one may say, out of her heart’s 
blood. Then he sells it to some one else the 
same, an’ has like luck, an’ so he sells it four or 
five times over, an’ when it looks pretty bad, he 
sells it to some one out an’ out for a matter of 
twenty-five dollars. Oh, miss, they does it con- 
stant,” and Gess having got in his plea against 
the agent, searched carefully for the crown of 
his hat. 

“And Mrs. Fenn?” urged Jean. 

“ Oh,” said Gess waking up. “ Why, miss, 
when she see that machine as good as gone, an’ 
her hopes perished, an’ as the Holy Book says, 
‘ her destruction coming as a whirlwind,’ what 
does she do but tip over in a dead faint, an’ set 
all them three scared little children screamin’ 
tremenjious. Took J’rushy an’ ’Mandy Ann a 
powerful long time to bring her to, an’ her like 
to go off agin any minute ; an’ ’Mandy Ann sez, 
‘You go tell the young lady, Peter Gess; for 
here ’s a time when we can’t be pertic’lar, havin’ 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEE! 207 

come to the end of our rope,’ she says. An’ 
J ’rushy she agreed with her.” 

“Ten dollars, you say, is the full amount 
due, and if she pays that to-morrow, and takes a 
receipt, she has her machine safe for always?” 

“ ’Less it ’s seized for rent,” suggested Gess, 
the custom of all his life still wrapping him in 
its heavy adumbration. 

Jean laughed. “We should never do that, 
Gess. Now we have some guests here, and I 
am going to take up a collection of ten dollars 
among them to secure that machine. I shall 
want you to take the money home very care- 
fully, and in the morning have Sime Ridder 
and Mr. Hapgood there to see that it is paid, 
and the agent gives his receipt in full for it.” 

“ Oh, miss, we ’ll do that most joyful !” 

“ I suppose Mrs. Fenn had n’t had her sup- 
per yet or you ?” 

“Supper, miss? As for me, J’rushy had a 
fine bowl of mush and molasses. I came off in 
too much hurry to eat it, but it will be there 
when I get back, unless the kids got onerly 
hungry and ate it up. As for Mis’ Fenn, a stale 
biscuit or so, and a drink of water is all they 
have, barring a nickel now and then for herring 
or meal and molasses.” 

“ I think this rescue of the machine should 
be celebrated with a good party,” said Jean 


2o8 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


gleefully. “ I ’m going to have you eat supper 
here, Gess, while I ’m collecting the money and 
Remeck is putting up a basket of things for 
Mrs. Fenn to have a feast with when you go 
home.” 

Jean stepped to a portiere behind which she 
was morally sure Remeck had been listening 
during all her interview with Gess. Old Rem- 
eck could not consider that his young mistress 
was more than a little child, and he took many 
liberties in view of his long services. 

“ Remeck, I want you to see that this man 
has a good supper, meat, tea, vegetables — plenty 
of good things.” 

“Yes, miss,” said Remeck, who had been 
moved to some pity by what he had heard, “ but 
you know cook hates poor people beyond poison, 
and she ’s in such a tantrum to-day ! She ’ll fly 
out, if I take him to the kitchen, and I can’t 
take him into my closet, miss !” 

“ Take him out to sit under the ash tree in 
the yard, or on the conservatory steps. You 've 
given John and me many a treat on those steps 
when we were little, Remeck !” 

This flash of reminiscence brought tears into 
the old butler’s eyes. “ I ’d do anything for you, 
Miss Jean !” he exclaimed. 

“ I know it, Remeck ; so while this good man 
is eating his supper, I wish you ’d make up a 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEEl 


2og 


basket of things for him to carry to a poor 
widow. Put in plenty of cold roast beef, and 
a pie ; some cheese, a big loaf, a glass of jelly, 
some pickles, some eggs, and some cake. Do n’t 
spare the cake, please, Remeck ; I do n’t believe 
those three little children ever tasted cake, and 
only think how much you used to give John 
and me, and how angry our nurse would be.” 

Remeck chuckled as he recalled the tiny, 
curly-headed tots that used to hang to his coat- 
skirts and clamor for cake. 

Jean felt sure that the basket would be well 
filled. “ Use some kitchen dishes and a splint 
basket, so she can keep them all, Remeck. It 
will set her up in housekeeping.” 

Then she went to the drawing-room and 
folding her small, soft, pink-tinted hands into a 
cup, she stood in the doorway and artlessly told 
the tale of sorrow ; the sad undertone borne up 
to them in their luxury from the restless sea of 
trouble that beats about the purlieus of the 
poor. It never occurred to Jean how gracious 
and beautiful she was, as she stood there speak- 
ing, and then she passed around among the 
sympathetic group, and held forth her living 
contribution-basket. The pink palms were well 
filled. 

“ Ten dollars and a half,” announced Jean. 
“ I ’m so glad you were all here to give, be- 

14 


210 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


cause — Mr. Dysart, please don’t think I am a 
bad financier — my money is nearly all gone for 
this month.” 

Jean gave Gess the basket and the money, 
with further injunctions as to careful dealing 
with the agent, and vigorous insistence on a 
grand feast for the Fenns. 

“ She ’ll be happy, I warrant you, miss ; but 
not so happy as you, for the Holy Book says, 
‘ Blessed is he that considereth the poor,’ and 
* He that hath mercy on the poor, happy is he.’ ” 

“ How good it must be,” said Jean wistfully, 
“ to know so much of the Bible as you do, Mr. 
Gess.” 

“Yes, miss, it is like cold water to a thirsty 
soul. I fairly hanker after the Scriptures. They 
come so good and pat to everything. I alius 
had a powerful good memory, and evenings I 
sit by the window or on the steps reading, and 
when it is too dark, why there ’s the ’lectric in 
the halls ; and I stand under that and read and 
read. ‘Give us a bit, Gess,’ they says to me, 
and I read out a portion. Tell you what, miss, 
the p’lice don’t know the better doings down 
Kelso Street way come from that Holy Book and 
the decent homes you ladies have give us in the 
Rents. Decent homes, decent doings — ’t ain’t a 
reg’lar rule, miss, but it ’s true pretty often.” 

“ To think,” said Jean to her aunt that night, 


WHAT IS THAT TO THEE'! 


2II 


“ I ’ve been at home nursing my own griefs, 
when thinking about them could n’t help at all ; 
and I ’ve kept away from those poor people 
that needed my help so much.” 

I can’t but admire the delicacy of the peo- 
ple in trying to look out for themselves, and 
not bringing all their troubles to me, lest it 
should seem a call for help,” said Miss Pru- 
dence. 


212 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


CHAPTER XI. 

“ ME W' PARDNERr 

“ The mournful truth is everywhere confessed : 

Slow rises worth, by poverty oppressed." 

June closed in happiness and beauty for 
Jean. Captain Locke had sent home to Mr. 
Dysart two letters by ships that he had met. 
The letters told that John was improving: the 
weather was fine, John did not suffer from sea- 
sickness ; he swung day and night in his ham- 
mock on deck, fanned by the warm airs that 
blew from the Windward Islands. Captain 
Locke thought his charge would pull through.’' 
Moreover, John had said one day, referring to 
his course, that he “ had made a mess of it,” and 
that '‘his twin sister was worth ten of him.” 
All this was but a frail and treacherous founda- 
tion whereon to build the fair fabric of a splen- 
did hope; nevertheless Jean so built and was 
happy. Her mind thus more at ease about her 
brother, Jean returned to her work in the Kelso 
Street neighborhood. After sending the money 
for the rescue of Mrs. Fenn’s machine, Jean 
shamefacedly stayed away from Cardiff Rents 
for a week or too ; she dreaded the lavish thanks 


ME W’ PARDNER. 


213 


and praises tliat would be heaped upon her by 
'Mandy Ann, J ’rushy Gess, and Mrs. Fenn. 

To hold her hands out, and in a few minutes 
find ten dollars in them ; to tell Remeck to fill a 
basket with provisions, this had been so easy to 
her. But the poor people appreciated it accord- 
ing to the benefit that they had received, per- 
haps according to the hearty human sympathy 
that had gone with the gift. When Ned Fenn 
came home from the hospital. Dr. Yancy found 
him a place better suited to his years and slender 
physique than that of masons’ tender, and Jean 
went to inform him of it. Ned was in raptures 
to think of being in a store, a big drygoods store, 
albeit his place was to be in the packing-room, 
among boxes, straw, and electric lights, so that 
he never saw, much less trod, the gorgeous 
upper floors. “ Who knows but I ’ll rise and be 
up head some day !” he cried to Jean. 

I hope so,” said Jean severely ; “ but re- 
member, you cannot rise unless you keep clean 
and know something. You must go to night 
school and study hard, whether you are tired in 
the evening or not ; and you must keep clean ; 
you must comb your hair and scour your skin 
well with soap and hot water, and be sure to 
keep your nails clean. The first time you are 
paid you must buy some soap, a little five-cent 
scrubbing-brush, and some blacking; you can 


214 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


get them all for forty cents at that Bee Hive 
store two squares from here.” 

“ Mind, Ned, you do exactly as miss says,” 
admonished Mrs. Fenn. 

“ I will that,” said Ned, very amenable in 
the roseate glow of his possible future. “ And, 
miss, where ’ll I go to night school ?” 

“ My aunt and some others have bought Mr. 
Gridley’s houses. They are to be done over 
like this, to be the New Rents. Those people 
in the basement are warned out, and all the 
basement is to be turned into a John Cardiff 
Comfort Hall” for lads. My brother, John 
Cardiff, who has gone on a voyage for his health, 
left money for that, and he hopes it will do you 
all much good. There is to be a bath-room, a 
little gymnasium, a reading-room, and a night 
school. We hope all will be ready in a month.” 

“ Well, ai n’t that a blessed thing for your 
brother to do!” said Mrs. Fenn, rubbing tears 
from her eyes, taking for this duty a pair of blue 
overalls which she was seaming up. It do beat 
all how much kinder-disposed folks are than we 
in our poor way took them to be. All that for 
boys ! For sure he must be a blessed young 
man, and a vast comfort to you, miss. The 
Lord send him home safe an’ well !” 

“ Why did n’t you give that fellow the forty 
cents for that toilet outfit you ordered so master- 


ME W’ PARDNER. 


fully, Jean?” Thus queried, as they reached 
the street, a young friend of Jean’s who was 
with her. 

Because I want him to be sure and use it ; 
he needs to use it, if he is going to commend 
himself in Alney’s store. If the things come too 
easy he may neglect them, but after paying so 
big a sum as forty cents for them he will be 
bound to get his money’s worth out of them,” 
said Jean. 

Big a sum !” laughed the girl friend ; “ why, 
I think forty-cent candy pretty cheap.” 

“ So did I. Maybe so do I now, if I ’m after 
candy ; but I tell you I ’ve found that money can 
buy sweeter things than candy.” 

It must be fun to go about here as you do 
and have all the people regarding you as a kind 
of angel in a black grenadine, and obeying every 
word you say to them.” 

“ They are far enough from doing that, I can 
tell you,” said Jean merrily ; “ the times they 
don’t do as they are told far outnumber the 
times they do. Now I wanted to stop and see a 
Mrs. Gess, but she is always washing, which is 
necessary, and she is always sopping the floor 
and herself and piling dripping clothes on her 
chairs and tables, and not half rinsing the duds— 
all of which is not necessary, for the nurse and 
the Bible woman have told her dozens of times 


2I6 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


just how to do it properly. Seems to me I've 
learned by hearing them tell her, and she do n’t 
improve in her ways at all. Her husband is a 
real good man. I wish she did make things 
more comfortable for him. Then I did n’t take 
you in to see ’Mandy Ann Ridder ; for though 
’Mandy Ann is a very nice woman, she always 
will wear a dirty apron, and insists on letting 
her baby suck a rag with sugar or a fig tied up 
in it ; and the nurse has told her better a hun- 
dred times. The apron and the sugar-rag are so 
disgusting ! I just passed by on the other side, 
like the Levite in the gospel, and I know I ’ll be 
sorry for it presently and wish I had more pa- 
tience with people.” 

“ Yesterday I read something that Douglass 
Jerrold said about patience : ‘ The cup of patience 
is set round with diamonds from the mines of 
Eden ; it is carved by angelic hands ; it is filled 
at the fount of eternal goodness.’ ” 

“No doubt,” replied Jean, “it is as superior 
an article as the Holy Grail. But I fear I shall 
never be the Sir Gallahad to find it. Now I’m 
going to stop at a coffee-stall down there. Rufus 
Hapgood, who keeps it, is one of my trials. I do 
so want him to truly reform, to be somebody ; 
and there are times when I feel sure he is going 
to be all right. Then the next thing I know he 
has fallen away again, and it is a thing to be 


ME ’N' PARDNER. 


217 


thankful for if he has n’t dragged Sime Ridder 
along with him. Here 's the stall. Why, no 
one here !” 

“ There seems to be a little dispute with fists 
going on down the street,” said Miss Cary. 

“ Yes, and that ’s Rufus Hapgood. Let us go 
on. No, they’ve settled it, and he is coming 
back. Well, we ’ll wait.” 

Rufus came up brushing his hat and trousers 
with his hand, pulling down his torn shirt- 
sleeve, running his fingers through his hair, 
and otherwise trying to make himself presenta- 
ble. His face was flushed, not merely by his 
quarrel. 

Miss Cardiff, I ’m more ashamed than I can 
tell that you should have found me in a common 
street quarrel ! If I ’d dreamed ladies were near 
I ’d let that chap off with the nickel short on his 
breakfast. But seeing I did not know ladies 
were around, and seeing I needed my money, I 
went for him — rather roughly, I ’ll allow. It ’s 
a failing of mine to lose my temper. ‘ I ’m poor 
as Job, my lord, but not so patient.’ Wm. Shake- 
speare, I think ; perhaps it is n't. Miss, I did hear 
that Miss Cardiff and Mr. Moultrie and some 
others had bought the Gridley houses. If they 
are done up like the Rents we 11 have a happy 
neighborhood. Indeed, ladies, such work is the 
highest form of charity : ‘ the health of a nation 


2i8 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


is its wealth,’ and if there were no slums there ’d 
be few epidemics. The rich ignore the poor 
and pack them into squalid quarters, and out of 
those quarters the poor send cholera, typhus, 
scarlet and yellow fever, smallpox, and diphthe- 
ria back to infest the homes of the rich. It ’s a 
queer thing, ladies, that the poor folks in these 
slums do n’t die half so fast of the diseases gen- 
erated among them as do the rich to whom they 
send them.” 

I hope, Mr. Hapgood, that you ’ll do all you 
can to help this neighborhood to be better, now 
that the Gridley houses are to be brought up to 
decency,” suggested Jean with dignity. 

‘‘ Indeed, Miss Cardiff, I ought, I ought ; but 
I ’m a very unsatisfactory person, very unsatis- 
factory. It has always been so with me. ^ Video 
meliora proboque^ deteriora sequor! Horace'^ 

Then as Miss Cary, Jean’s friend, was evi- 
dently greatly amazed at his conversation, Rufus 
took a fresh start with much courage. 

“ Miss, I must add my little praise to the way 
in which these ladies do their good work. There 
are those who make a profession of charity for 
their own benefit. To be at the head of a great 
charity, have the name of an officer, a big salary, 
and a splendid office, with plenty of well-paid 
clerks to toady to you, does give one importance. 
Some charities so managed are close corpora- 


ME'N' PARDNER. 


2ig 

tions, and the people who run them forget that 
a trust fund for charity is a sacred trust. People 
get up affairs of this sort for the prominence 
they get out of it. Following for loaves and 
fishes, miss, began when embodied Charity 
walked the earth. Bible T 

Rufus suddenly stopped. He had lost the 
thread of his discourse, and standing in open- 
mouthed distress for a moment, anxiously looked 
into his coffee-pot for the missing link. Jean 
seized the opportunity to walk away. 

'‘What kind of a man is that?” demanded 
Miss Cary. 

“A former gentleman and college student, 
wrecked by drink. He has been drinking to- 
day ; he always talks with extra fluency, quotes 
Latin, and then suddenly brings up in a blank 
silence. Poor man, will he ever improve ?” 

“ Perhaps you ought to get him converted, 
Jean.” 

" I have tried, and I can’t. Now there was 
Mr. Gess ; he was converted, and he is one of 
the best men — so quietly useful, always trying, 
as he calls it, 'to serve God in the by-places.’ I 
think I understand it : I ’ve been trying to con- 
vert Hapgood myself, and have made poor work 
of it ; but the Lord converted Peter Gess.” 

They were at the door of the kindergarten. 
Mrs. Lark, Amy’s mother, was walking a par- 


220 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


ticularly fat and dirty little chap of three, and 
Amy, swaying to and fro in a willow rocker was 
singing “ Grandfather’s Clock ” at the top of her 
voice, which fortunately rung true and sweet. 

“Why, Amy,” said Jean, “you are as good 
as your name ; you sing like a lark’ sure 
enough.” 

Amy gave a happy little laugh. The world 
seemed a good world to Amy since her mother 
regularly received four dollars a week and their 
dinners, for such easy work as running the baby 
department of a free and easy kindergarten ; 
while the brood of four little ones were regu- 
larly in the kindergarten, and had clean aprons 
and soup daily! Amy felt that life had little 
further to offer. 

“You seem to have a hard youngster to man- 
age there, Mrs. Lark,” smiled Jean ; “ can you 
get him clean ? And how are your eyes ?” 

“ They ’re better every day, miss, thank you. 
Oh, I ’ll get this youngster clean ; Amy found 
him yesterday ; his mother lies sick, and the 
father, a decent man, has his hands full looking 
out for them all outside of work hours. We 
brought in two of them, and the bigger one is 
washed an’ in yonder, pretty as a peach ! 
They’re German folk, just moved into the Grid- 
ley Rents, and feeling mighty bad about how 
things goes there. They had to take it, for her 


ME'N' PARDNER. 


221 


sickness has brought them into hard times. 
Amy heard tell your aunt had bought the Grid- 
ley houses, and she cheered her up fine, telling 
her she made sure you 'd clean out them pesky 
cellars, and have things fair and right. There 
now, Carl, my little man, hold there while I 
scour your head a bit more, and then you shall 
have a clean pinny and a piece of bread.” 

“ What ’s a pinny ?” asked Miss Cary, regard- 
ing the dimpled Carl with great interest. 

‘‘ It 's an apron. Mammy is so old-fashioned ?” 
cried Amy, with a burst of laughter, as fresh as 
if it rippled over green meadows instead of the 
broken pavement of Kelso Street. 

“ Well, now, so I am old-fashioned,” chuckled 
Mrs. Lark. “ I was brought up in Kent, Eng- 
land, in a bit of a thatched house until I was a 
matter of twelve years old. Here ’s Amy, I am 
thinking she lays out to be a fashionable lady 
when she grows up, but I do n’t know just how 
she ’ll come at it. ' So ’s you ’re good, Amy,’ I 
says to her, ‘ so ’s you ’re good, it ’s enough.* 
Miss, have you seen ’Mandy Ann Ridder’s baby 
lately ? It looks dretful peaked. I ’m most 
afraid she ’ll lose that, same as she did the oth- 
ers. Poor soul, I hope she ’ll raise it ! There ’s 
Sime, he ’s a good fellow in the main, and he 
does set store by the little ’un, an if he loses it 
I ’m afeard he ’ll fall away entirely. Sime, he 


222 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


’lowed tlie other day that if the Lord did n’t do 
the right thing by him in regards to this baby, 
he would n’t have no confidence in him no 
more.” 

Then seeing the horrified looks passing be- 
tween Jean and Miss Cary, at what seemed to 
them to be almost blasphemy, she explained, 
“Sime wasn’t meanin’ a bit of harm, Sime 
was n’t, he was only expressin’ of hisself.” 

There, now,” said Jean to her friend, “I 
said I would be sorry that I had avoided going 
to look after Mrs. Ridder merely because of such 
trifles as a dirty apron, and a fig tied in a rag. 
I ’m ashamed of myself that I am so intolerant ! 
We ’ll go back there and see about that baby, as 
soon as we have seen the kindergarten and 
stopped to speak with Mrs. Lindsay.” 

The children in the kindergarten were ad- 
mired and laughed at, called ‘dear little tots’; 
and peppermint drops found their way from 
Miss Cary’s pocket into their ready mouths. 
One midget with laughing eyes and golden 
curls so delighted Miss Cary that she declared 
she was resolved to persuade her mother to 
adopt the little one. 

Then on to Mrs. Lindsay’s. “ I ’ve come to 
tell you,” said Jean, “that my dear brother left 
money with me to establish a ‘John Cardiff 
Comfort Hall,’ for young lads, a place of resort 


ME W PARDNER. 


223 


especially for evenings. I knew you would be 
glad, because you are troubled about what Aleck 
and Jamie will do evenings.” 

“ Indeed I am,” said Mrs. Lindsay. “ They 
laddies are juist an age not to want to stop at 
hame, watchin’ we women folk ply oor needles, 
an the street 's a bad schule for them. My guid 
man before he died, he said to me, ‘ Bonnie wo- 
man, ne’er let oor laddie rin the streets at nicht, 
or he ’ll turn out a neer-do-weel.’ ” 

We intend to use the basement of the Grid- 
ley houses for the Comfort Rest. We have 
bought that property to manage just as we do 
the Cardiff Rents,” added Jean. 

“ Noo the guid Lord be praised,” cried Mrs. 
Lindsay holding up both her hands. “ Is ’na it 
clean surprisin’ hoo we pray for things an’ never 
really expec’ to receive them ; an hoo amazed 
we are when the guid Lord answers. Weel, weel, 
when the Gridley hooses were rented sae ill, 
says Sime Ridder — coming along wi’ his pockets 
fu’ o’ rats — the creetur he says, ‘ There ’s no ony 
houp for Kelso Street neighborhood. What 
Cardiff Rents builds oop, Gridley Rents will de- 
stroy. An’ is ’na it a shame the kind o’ traps 
laid there for sic foolish men as me?’ Janey 
speaks up, ‘ Ye maun be a foolish man surely, 
Mr. Ridder, gif sic contramptions as yon wiles 
you off fra ’Mandy Ann and the bairnie.' But 


224 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


Mrs. Martin comes in one day and she says, 
‘ We looked for peace an’ behold trouble. Satan 
has come down in great micht,’ she says, * an’ 
established hisself in Gridley Rents. Noo,’ she 
says to Janey an’ me, ‘unless we can pray him 
oot, thaur he stays to confound us a’.’ So from 
that oot, every Sunday afternoon here Mrs. Mar- 
tin, an’ Aggie, an’ Janey, an’ me, we hae read a 
bit o’ Scripter, an prayed the Lord to send help 
to Kelso Street and take oot the devil’s strong- 
hold. Noo he has answered abundantly, an’ I ’m 
the astonished woman ! Janey, coom here ! 
The Lord has risen up to oor help, and Gridley 
Rents is to be turned into decent abidin’ places, 
an’ something done for the laddies moreover ! 
Surely the Lord has done exceeding abundantly 
mair than we could ask or think.” 

Janey came, rosy and smiling, wiping her 
round red arms on her sacking apron. “ Well, 
auntie, I told you so, only you would not believe 
it,” she said. 

“ I would no. I ’m waur than Peter wi’ his 
sinkin’.” 

“ Where is Bessie Lowther ?” asked Jean. 

“ She ’s gone to work. She got a place for a 
bit in a white goods factory. It ’s poor pay, and 
Bessie, she craves pretty things ; she wants a 
pink calico frock, and some ribbons and a straw 
bonnet. Bessie’s wearing an old felt, and she 


ME 'N' PARDNER. 223 

hates it. She said if she could look nice, she ’d 
go to church with us Sunday morning and even- 
ing ; but I do n’t know if she would. She ’s 
looking and running after high-priced things 
she sees in advertisements. I told her she ’d get 
into trouble, for those places were tricks. Still, 
I pity Bessie, she ’s made that way ; she 's fair 
sick for a little finery, something to look nice on 
her, poor girl !” 

Janey sighed ; she was really anxious about 
Bessie, and as she told her little story, she 
thought how lovely these two listening girls 
looked in their fresh summer garb. Why was 
there such a difference in the fortunes of 
girls ? 

''Well, I don’t blame her,” said Miss Cary 
emphatically, " I ’d feel just so myself. How 
large is Bessie ? Tall as I am ?” 

" Pretty nearly, miss, and about as slender,” 
said Janey. 

" Oh, Mrs. Lindsay, send Alex and Jamie up 
to see me this evening,” said Jean. " Let them 
come as soon as their day’s work is over. They 
are to have tea in my garden, and then they are 
to help me look over a lot of games and books, 
to see what they think would be nice for the 
John Cardiff Comfort Hall. They will know 
what lads like.” 

Mrs. Lindsay’s face shone with pride and 

15 


226 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


joy at this invitation. Tea in a garden for her 
boys ! Oh bliss ! 

Miss Cary caught the look of joyful surprise. 
She was a girl who thought quickly ; she turned 
to Janey. “ When those boys come home to- 
night they shall bring Bessie a full suit of mine. 
I think she ’ll like it, a spotted cambric dress I 
wore in the country last year, a hat, shoes, and 
so on to go with it. My birthday will come next 
week, and mother told me to have just what I 
liked to celebrate with. I ’m going to have tea 
in my garden ; and I want you and Bessie and 
your little sister here to come, and I ’ll find some 
others. I ’ll send invitations to you, and I ’ll 
send an omnibus to bring you. Will you 
come ?” 

Janey and Aggy looked raptures. 

It ’s a’ vera beautiful, miss,” said Mrs. Lind- 
say, “ but I prize the Hall for the boys aboon a’. 
What to do wi’ the evenings I could na tell. 
They canna even pick o’er the rags. Jock 
Moore, he locks hissel intil the rag-room alone. 
He says he picks o’er rags. Maybe he does; 
but he disna have a large pile to show in the 
mornin’. Pickin’ rags is no so great fun for 
boys in the evenin’s, but there ’s the expectation 
they may find somethin’, an’ that gies some ex- 
citement till it.” 

“ How kind of you, you dear girl,” said Jean 


ME W' PARDNER. 


22y 

when she and her friend were in the street to- 
gether, ‘‘to think of giving that poor Bessie the 
pretty things, and to ask them to a garden tea. 
She ’ll be twice as likely to be good if she has 
something to look forward to ! How lovely of 
you to take such an interest — all this for Bessie, 
the clothes and the tea. You are talking too of 
adopting that little Polly orphan.” 

“ I want to do that. I ’ll tell mother she used 
to give me a handsome doll every birthday, now 
she can give me a live one. But Jean, why is it 
any lovelier of me than of you to do such things ? 
You are spending all your time and money in 
such work.” 

“ Yes ; but, dear, I seem to have been driven 
and forced into it. There was my father’s death 
when I was away, and some other things that 
happened then, with my eyes giving out so, dear 
John so sick and going off for so long. I ’ll tell 
you how it seems to me : like some children I 
have seen playing in these' streets, and their 
mothers came to the doors, and called, ‘Come in 
now, children, you ’re wanted ;’ then some ran 
obediently at once, but the others would not 
mind, and kept on playing no matter who called, 
until out came the mothers, or big sisters, and 
caught and cuffed them, and so brought them in 
kicking and resisting. That seems to me the 
way with some people and the kingdom of God : 


228 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TF. 


some come easily and early ; some have to be 
brought in with violence. Here ’s Mrs. Ridder’s ; 
and the door is open. Good morning, Mrs Rid- 
der ; I heard baby was not well." 

Mrs. Ridder furtively gave her offending 
apron a jerk as she rose from her chair, succeed- 
ing not in pulling the apron off, but pulling it 
crooked. “ She is so, miss," she said going over 
to the bed where the pale, thin baby lay asleep. 
“She was so fat and pink and cunning until 
these hot days came. Now only see. I ’m heart- 
sick." 

Jean took from the baby’s mouth the offen- 
sive rag, over which she and Mrs. Ridder had 
controversy. “Can you expect her to be well, 
and tkat thing in her little mouth ?" she said 
severely. 

“ But, miss, she likes it, an’ hollers for it ; 
she won’t be still without it," urged the 
mother. 

“ Because you have made a habit of it. Can’t 
you see that that warm, wet, soiled thing, is sour 
half the time, and is nothing less than poison, 
and full of microbes ?’’ Jean looked like an ac- 
cusing angel : she was strong on this point, she 
was quoting from the nurse. 

“No, miss, I never did put no microbes in it, 
no." 

“ They don’t wait to be put : they come, they 


ME W’ PARDNER. 


22g 


thrive in all such horrid things as that rag, and 
they ’ll kill your baby if you persist in giving 
her such a rag ! But do n’t cry, let ’s make a 
plan : you promise never to let her have such a 
rag again, and this afternoon you wash and iron 
all your things, and the baby’s, and to-morrow 
morning I ’ll come with the carriage and take 
you both out to the farm where you were last 
summer, and you shall stay there six weeks, un- 
til baby will be fine and hearty. Now be ready 
to-morrow at nine.” 

Mrs. Ridder seized her apron with both 
hands and jerked it off. “ There, Miss ! I ’ll 
never wear a dirty apron again, and never, 
never give baby a fig-rag ; and you are just like 
an angel of light. Miss, to me and baby ! Oh, 
there ’s no words in me to say my feelin’s, Miss ; 
but as Peter Gess says, frequent, ‘ Feelins is 
good, but doin’s is better.’ ” 

Jean smiled cheerily and with Miss Cary de- 
parted. 

“Jean, you used to be always in some kind 
of jolly mischief, finding something new, going 
somewhere, doing just what you liked. I used 
to envy you, because mother would not give me 
so much pocket-money and liberty. You are 
different now, yet really I believe you are hap- 
pier.” 

“ I am,” said Jean simply, “and for these last 


2JO 


THE CAED/FF ESTATE. 


two weeks when I have had good news of John 
to rejoice in, I feel so thankful that it seems that 
I cannot do enough for others to show my grati- 
tude to God. Aunt read me a verse yesterday, 
‘ My goodness extendeth not to thee, but to the 
saints that are in the earth and another, ' Inas- 
much as ye did it unto the least of one of these 
my brethren, ye did it unto me.’ And I know 
that these are Christ’s brethren, what aunt calls 
his ‘ hidden ones ’ down in the slums.” 

The two girls had returned to their carriage, 
and Jean told Louis to drive to the park. 
“After that,” she said to Miss Cary, “ I want you 
to come home and spend the rest of the day 
with me, and see those boys in the evening.” 

“ Ever so glad to do it,” said Miss Cary. “ I 
am enjoying all this immensely. Do you know, 
I mean to do all I can of this work, and after 
this last year of school work is over, I shall have 
more time. Did you think what a very touch- 
ing thing it was, those two women and two girls 
meeting every Sunday to pray away the trouble 
of the Gridley Rents ? Who is that Miss 
Martin ?” 

“ She is Mrs. Martin, an old, feeble widow- 
woman. She never makes any fuss nor com- 
plains ; she is clean, and well patched ; her little 
room on the corner of Kelso Street is clean and — 
there ! I know she is real, real poor. I have 


ME W’ PARDNER. 


231 


been neglecting her for the others. There is so 
much to do there, and the troubles of the little 
children touched me so. Mrs. Martin is cer- 
tainly one of Christ’s own, that I might have 
served him in helping. I never did a thing for 
her, but to give her a chromo to hang in her 
room, a potted geranium for her window, and a 
loaf of cake on New Year’s. Aunt gave her a 
big print Testament and hymn-book, and a 
blanket. I remember now, Mr. Moultrie said 
her room was too high up for such a feeble wo- 
man, that some one ought to live with her or 
next her who would help her a little. Dear me ! 
How negligent I am ; that poor soul will be sev- 
enty-nine next week. Mrs. Lindsay told me so 
not long ago.” 

“Just grandma’s age, and what would she do, 
old darling, left all alone to wait on herself, go- 
ing errands hot days, and rising to make her 
fire on cold days? Jean, let us take this old 
lady’s birthday in charge. We ’ll find a better 
down-stairs room, and we will furnish it : I know 
our houses will afford spare bits of things enough 
to make her real cosey. We ’ll get all ready 
without letting her know. Suppose we provide 
things for a high tea, and have those Lindsay 
folks get it ready, and ask some others to eat it 
with her ? Oh, won’t it be jolly !” 

“You ’re the dearest girl in creation !” cried 


232 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

Jean joyfully, “ and if we were not in the open 
street I should certainly hug you 1” 

Jean looked about as she spoke, and noticed 
the corner of the street near which stood the 
Woman’s Home she had frequently visited. 
“ Oh, I have an idea ! a splendid idea,” she ex- 
claimed. “ I have thought of the person to put 
with Mrs. Martin.” 

Miss Cary laughed. “ I suppose so ; Mrs. 
Jennings says that you are always putting two 
and two together, and making four.” 

“ Does n’t everybody ?” demanded Jean. 
“ Why do n’t you ask me of whom I have 
thought ? There is a young woman named 
Mrs. Finch ; she has twins, a little over a year 
old now. I was interested in them you know on 
account of me and John, and her husband is in 
the penitentiary for ever so many years, and she 
hopes he ’ll never come back. Is n’t it a pity for 
a man to be so bad as that ! Mrs. Finch was 
nearly starved, and the babies had only water in 
their bottles to suck — think of that ! Aunt took 
them all to the Woman’s Rest Home, and then 
they sent them into the country for three 
months. When they came back Mrs. Jennings 
and aunt fixed up a room near Mrs. Lindsay’s 
for them. Mrs. Finch has improved very much, 
and Mr. Dysart gave her a machine : she at- 
tends to her room and her twins just as the 


ME 'N' PARDNER. 


^33 


nurse and Bible-woman advise her to. Dear 
Dr. Imlay got her hospital sewing to do regu- 
larly, so she earns about five dollars a week. 
Now if we can get a room next hers for Mrs. 
Martin, and have her help Mrs. Martin a little 
by doing her washing, her cleaning, and making 
fires, Mrs. Martin can help her by taking care of 
the twins. If that is not enough we ’ll pay 
a little something, so that will help them 
both.” 

Said : done exclaimed Miss Cary ; “ we ’ll 
take up that affair to-morrow, for right after my 
birthday we are going to the White Mountains 
to stay until September.” 

“We are going to the beach week after next, 
to our cottage. Aunt Prudence and I. While we 
are gone Mr. Moultrie and Mr. Dysart will look 
after the doing over of the Gridley houses. 
When we come home we mean to send the 
nurse and Bible-woman, Miss Lacy and Lois, and 
little Aggie Lindsay, to the cottage for two 
weeks. Why, there is Peter Gess ! Louis, stop ! 
I want to speak to that man.” Jean signalled to 
Peter, who, hat in hand approached the carriage 
step. “ I did n’t know you worked out here, Mr. 
Gess.” 

“ Yes, Miss, I have a good job for a month, 
road-making ; it ’s better by a quarter-dollar a 
day than where I was. I bring my dinner an’ 


234 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


eat it in yon clump of trees an’ flowerin’ bushes. 
Ai n't it lovely ? I bring the babby out here, and 
keep him all day.” 

“Why your baby is only two years old. 
Won’t he run away, or get killed while you are 
working?” asked Jean. 

“ He ’s mighty sage for his years. Miss ; and 
moreover, I bring along a bit of clothes-line, and 
tie one end to his waist and one end to a tree ; 
there he plays and plays till he ’s sleepy, then 
drops over for a nap. It ’s all shade there. At 
noon I loose him, and feed him. He’s real 
happy and pickin’ up amazin’. J ’rushy starts 
him off clean as wax. Miss, and you ’d be sur- 
prised how many folks stop to speak to him, or 
give him a cake, or some fruit. Sometimes I 
find bits of money pinned up in the back of his 
frock.” 

The two girls laughed merrily at this descrip- 
tion. Jean said, 

“ I stopped to speak to you about Rufus 
Hapgood : he ’s going wrong again. I ’m afraid 
he ’ll lead off Sime Ridder, too.” 

“ Rufe is going wrong,” admitted Gess, “but 
Sime is resisting very firm. I believe the Lord ’s 
dealing with Ridder.” 

“Can’t you help Rufus Hapgood any? 
He ’ll lose all his little business, and go to ruin, 
I ’m afraid.” 


ME W’ PARDNER. 


235 

“Well, Miss, I runs his eatin’-stand morn- 
ings from half-past four to half-past six, and 
all the evenins, and I gets Rufe back safe 
every night. I deals out the truth to him. 
I works for him same as if it was me ’n’ 
pardner.” 




THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


CHAPTER XII. 

AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS. 

“ My little craft sails not alone ; 

A thousand ships from every zone 
Are out upon a thousand seas : 

And what for one is favoring breeze, 

Might dash another with the shock 
Of doom upon some hidden rock." 

The summer days lapsed one by one in 
warmth, light and beauty ; rising in glory, filled 
with fragrance and the ringing matins of the 
birds, and the reveille of labor ; gliding down 
into the evening’s paling gold and deepening 
gray, with no sound but the slow sweep of the 
returning tides, the cricket’s shrill pipe, or the 
lonely intermittent cry of the whip-poor-will. 

How many hours Jean spent upon the sands ! 
the waters seemed a bond between her and her 
brother ; somewhere on that foam-flecked super- 
ficies her brother had his floating home; the 
very waves that lapped against her hand might 
one day ripple on the sides of his ship. Oh, 
John, John ! how many a prayer and thought 
of unfailing patient love those waves might 
bring you ! 

There had come a line from John himself. 


AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS. 2j7 

mailed at Para. He was able to walk about the 
deck. From Bahia another note: he was able 
to go ashore, but Captain Locke refused him the 
privilege. From Rio de Janeiro came a third 
letter: John was ill -pleased enough; he had 
been sent to share the cabin of the second-mate, 
a stiff old Scotchman ; he was made to mess 
wdth this man. From Montevideo came another 
grumble : still he could not go ashore, and he 
had been put to work ! scrubbing decks, scrap- 
ing masts, splicing rope, his trick at the wheel ! 
that was nice business for the heir of the Car- 
diffs ! However a postscript said that he had 
‘gained a lot of flesh, his muscle was getting 
firm, he was tanned, he slept like a top, he was 
fearfully hungry, and wished he had something 
decent to eat.’ All this was good news ; it made 
Jean’s heart sing for joy. 

But then came no more letters from John. 
How long the weeks were without news ! Jean 
was glad that September had come, so that she 
could return to town ; she seemed there to be 
nearer news of John. Finally among the ship- 
ping intelligence they found an item : the Coral 
Queen had been spoken off the Falkland Islands, 
all well on board. More longing and weary 
waiting ; then another item : the Coral Queen 
had been sighted in the Straits of Magellan, 
weather very bad, fierce wind and thick snow. 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


After that, silence — long, cold, hopeless silence : 
the Coral Queen seemed to have melted among 
those snow-flakes through which she had gone 
scudding along. Poor Jean, her life had sud- 
denly taken upon it the nakedness of the 
desert. 

The John Cardiff Comfort Hall for Lads was 
finished in the basement of the renovated Grid- 
ley buildings. Its name in great gilt letters was 
blazoned in a broad glory above the doors. It 
was autumn now ; the evenings were chilly and 
long ; out of the streets gathered many lads into 
Comfort Hall ; they swung in the gymnasium 
on bars and ropes, they played at dominoes and 
checkers, they read magazines and papers, they 
hung enamoured over ‘‘ Robinson Crusoe,” 
“Swiss Family Robinson,” “Winter in Spitz- 
bergen,” “The Young Maroons,” “The History 
of the United States,” and other books that had 
been John Cardiff’s, and which he and Jean had 
read sitting in one big chair together. Other 
lads about a table, where sat an instructor, stud- 
ied reading, writing, arithmetic, book-keeping, 
spelling. All was light, bright, warm, helpful, 
at the John Cardiff Comfort Hall for Lads, but 
within the heart of Jean was ‘ grief and despe- 
rate sorrow.’ 

“There is but one help for you, Jean,” said 
Dr. Yancy to her one day ; “ hold fast by Him 


AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS. 


239 

who holdeth the waters in the hollow of his 
hand, and taketh up the isles as a very little 
thing. In this time of anxiety and waiting stay 
yourself on the thought that though so far from 
each other, you and your twin are equally near 
to God. When you were babies you cried out 
after each other, when the nurse had you one 
on each arm, but having your faces turned from 
each other you seemed far away and cried. It 
is so now : the Father in his all-sufficient arm 
holds you and John.” 

“ We are very anxious about Jean,” said Miss 
Prudence to Dr. Yancy at another time, “ as anx- 
ious for her as for John ; her heart is intensely 
bound up in John. We fear for her health, and 
for the reaction upon her eyes, in this sorrow 
and anxiety. Dr. Imlay thinks her safeguard 
is her work ; if she can keep up her interest 
in that, and absorb her thoughts in it, or 
even get herself physically weary in it, so that 
sleep shall come from weariness — that is her 
hope.” 

That night Mr. Moultrie and Mr. Dysart 
came in about half-past nine ; the house was in 
a half-light and very still ; only the low sweet 
sound of a song came from the library ; the two 
went there, softly. Jean lay on a couch, her 
head in her aunt’s lap. Miss Prudence was 
goftly and steadily stroking the girl’s head, and 


240 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


as she did so she sung, while Jean slept to the 
low music of the song : 

“ Ashore, ashore, weariness bringeth balm, 

And tired souls thereby be doubly blessed — 
Ashore, ashore, the Father with his calm, 

Granteth his toilers — rest.” 

It was a Canadian boat-song that Jean loved. 
Miss Prudence held up a warning finger ; the 
two men turned away and went on into the Con- 
servatory. 

“The poor child sleeps at last,” said Mr. 
Moultrie. “ Miss Cardiff reported her as awake 
nearly all last night. I am almost glad that I 
have to tell her to-morrow how sick Rufus 
Hapgood is. Anything to take her mind off 
John.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Dysart, “there is nothing 
that so heals our sorrows as to be a helper of 
others. There have been times also when I felt 
overwhelmed with some of those troubles of 
which we each have our own, and which we all 
must meet in life, when I have felt strength and 
calm by going to walk in ^ God’s acre,’ some city 
of the dead. Moving among the low and nar- 
row beds where all the sleepers lie in such pro- 
found rest, I think how short after all was time 
to them, how immense is the unmeasured exist- 
ence. I think how all the griefs that to them, 
lingering here, seemed unbearable, are now lost 


AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS. 


241 


out of sight — light, forgotten as dead leaves 
sown on some hurrying stream. I think how 
each of these narrow beds was made by sorrow, 
wet with tears, covered in with a heartache ; yet 
all, all these griefs are passed, and earth wheels 
on unheeding of those who have fulfilled their 
mortal destiny. What to me, what to others, 
will soon be my woe or pain, except for its 
ripening and enriching of the spiritual nature — 
of myself or of others.” 

The two men walked among the flowers 
for a while, silent ; then Mr. Dysart said again, 
“ Poor John ! poor spoiled boy! He was of all 
most unfit for a sudden shock of doom — a vio- 
lent end.” 

*‘What! Do you give him up?” exclaimed 
Mr. Moultrie. 

“ No ; one may fear anything and hope any- 
thing from the sea.” 

The next morning at breakfast Mr. Moultrie 
said, Miss Jean, Rufus Hapgood is very sick 
with pneumonia.’ 

“ He has looked half sick for some time,” 
said Miss Parsons. 

“ Have they taken him to the hospital ?” 
asked Jean. “ I went to see him. He has been 
doing better, trying to be good, lately.” 

But trying as usual in his own strength,” 
said Miss Prudence ; that is the trouble with 
16 


242 THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 

Rufus ; failure as he is, he never feels his need 
of God.” 

‘‘ He is not at the hospital,” said Mr. Moul- 
trie. “ As soon as Peter Gess found that Rufus 
was sick with a heavy cold he took him to his 
place, and means to keep him there.” 

“ He cannot be half as comfortable or well 
nursed,” said Miss Prudence ; “ he really should 
go to the hospital.” 

“ Why, what room is there at Peter’s place !” 
cried Jean. “ They have only three rooms ; that 
general room where Jerusha Gess washes, cooks, 
eats, and two little bedrooms ; then they have 
six children !” 

“ The oldest boy is gone ; he has a place Mrs. 
Ridder found for him in the country last sum- 
mer ; he went two weeks ago. The next to the 
youngest sleeps at Mrs. Ridder’s in her baby’s 
trundle-bed ; Peter Gess gave Rufus the second 
bedroom, the small one, farthest from the kitch- 
en ; and ’Mandy Ridder and Mrs. Gess have 
made it real comfortable for him. Two of the 
Gess children sleep in the kitchen, and two in 
their mother’s room on the floor. Rufus has a 
perfect horror of going to the hospital. Peter is 
in hopes that if he has him with him he may 
help him spiritually. Rufus will take more from 
Peter than from any one else. Peter is perfectly 
devoted to Rufus ; he calls him ‘ Pardner' He 


AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS, 243 

and Sime try to run the coffee-stand for him. 
Peter sleeps on the floor by Rufus’ bed, to take 
care of him nights. I believe the whole Gess 
family live on half rations to be able to supply 
the extra fire and lights, the milk and fruit Ru- 
fus needs. Oh, sometimes, many times, the poor 
are good to the poor beyond all words!” Mr. 
Moultrie watched Jean eagerly ; he was trying 
by this true tale to draw her mind from that one 
theme— — which had for a fortnight en- 
grossed her. He succeeded. 

“ Why have I neglected my poor people so !” 
exclaimed Jean. “ Half rations ! The Gess fam- 
ily fairly going hungry, and we have enough 
and to spare 1 We should provide all that fruit, 
milk, ice, night-lamp — all those extras.” 

“They did not tell me they were denying 
themselves, but what else could it be? Mrs. 
Gess earns about two dollars a week ; Peter never 
gets over eight, and often six. There are eight 
to feed, house, clothe on eight or ten dollars.” 

“They are never behind with the rent,” said 
Miss Prudence ; “ there is very seldom any one 
in the ^Cardiff Rents ’ or the ‘ New Rents ' behind- 
hand a day : the people seem to take a pride in 
being prompt ; they make a conscience of it.” 

“ One thing is,” said Mr. Moultrie, “ in rais- 
ing the grade of their homes we have raised the 
character of the people and the quality of their 


244 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


work, so they are less likely to be out of work. 
We have weeded out the most incorrigible, re- 
moved temptation from the weak, so drink and 
gambling do not absorb the earnings ; finally, 
we are careful to try and help the people to find 
work. Our little labor bureau has quietly done 
a great deal for the Kelso Street neighborhood.” 

“ But how much they need to have done !” 
said Jean; there are so many of them, all so 
poor and struggling. I know there is something 
I can do there every day, and I will do it. Aunt, 
what was that we read the other day — or, you 
read and I heard — ‘ With whom hast thou left 
those few sheep in the wilderness?’ I have 
been leaving my poor sheep in Kelso Street.” 

'‘There is one there longing for you. Miss 
Jean,” said Mr. Moultrie, “ old Mrs. Martin. She 
asks after you every day, and she says so de- 
voutly and earnestly, ‘ The Lord bless her and 
give her the desires of her heart,’ that I always 
feel sure that hers are the prayers that will bring 
down an answer. She said the other day that 
the coming of you and Miss Cary into her room 
was like the return of flowers and summer. She 
is so happy, good old creature, in that little room 
you young ladies fixed for her.” 

“ It was a fine scheme to put Mrs. Finch and 
old Mrs. Martin together,” said Miss Prudence. 
Mrs. Finch never knew what a mother was. 


AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS. 


245 


Mrs. Martin’s two girls died long ago, in early 
youth ; now Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Finch are 
like a mother and daughter : Mrs. Martin is so 
helpful in a religious way to Mrs. Finch; Mrs. 
Finch is so docile and so eager to learn what is 
right and to do it.” 

“They are always at the services in our 
Kelso Street mission-room,” said Mr. Moultrie, 
“ on Sunday and prayer-meeting night. I hope 
Dr. Yancy will succeed in raising money for a 
chapel, then we can organize a church down 
there. To be a pastor right down there in 
those slums, among those poor, ignorant, long- 
ing people, is my dearest hope.” 

“We cannot call them slums long, after a 
chapel is organized there,” said Jean. “The 
whole character of the place will be changed, 
and slumdom will move farther down toward 
the river.” 

“ Then let us pursue it with Chapels, Kinder- 
gartens, Comfort Halls, Labor Bureaus, Milk 
Depots, until we crowd slumdom into the river, 
and wash it away with the other sewage en- 
tirely, leaving a city cleansed, ^ all her children 
taught of the Lord, and great the peace of her 
children,’ ” added Mr. Moultrie. 

“ That is a beautiful dream,” said Miss Pru- 
dence : “ the day may come when it will not be 
all a dream.” 


246 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


Remeck,” said Jean to the butler, you see 
to having rice, sago, crackers, lemons, sugar, 
beef extract packed in a basket, and tell Louis I 
want the carriage right away. Aunt, I am going 
to ask Mrs. Dali for a blanket, a night-lamp, and 
some sheets and pillow-cases.” 

“Yes; also in my room you’ll find three 
night-shirts done up in a bundle ; I put them 
there last night. If Rufus wont go to a 
hospital, we will do our best for him where 
he is.” 

Miss Prudence and Mr. Moultrie nodded to 
each other as Jean left the breakfast - room. 
Once more the girl was finding her way to safety 
by the path of sympathy. 

At this same hour, after a troubled night, 
Rufus Hapgood was tossing on his bed, while 
Peter Gess was bathing the sick man’s fevered 
hands and face in warm water, and Jerusha 
stood by with a steaming flaxseed poultice to 
lay upon his chest. Rufus had never been really 
ill before ; he was sick now, alarmed, despairing. 
How could any one feel so desperately bad as he 
did and ever be better ? He looked at the min- 
istering Peter. His whimsical humor survived 
amid his misery. “ Ring down the curtain,” he 
said ; “ the play is done, and I ’ve failed.” 

“Don’t be so triflin’, Pardner,” implored 
Peter, tucking down the edges of the poultice 


AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS. 247 

and making Rufus wince with the heat. “ If 
you ’re goin’ to leave us now, Pardner, it is a 
mighty serious place you ’re goin’ to, sure, an’ I 
want you to view it in a serious light. I tell 
you, Pardner, dyin’ ’s no play-actorin’.” 

“ I ’ve seen it done, and very well done too, 
on the stage.” 

“ It ’s only well done, Pardner, when its done 
understandin’ly an relyin’ on the Lord, who 
freely pardons all our sins.” 

Rufus sighed : I wish I had my life to live 
over again.” 

“ What would you do with it, man ?” 

“ I ’d better it. I would n’t throw myself and 
all my opportunities away, and come to die at 
last like a rat in a hole.” 

''Better it, would you?” spoke up J’rusha 
Gess. " I ’ll tell you, you would n’t better it by 
a hair’s breadth, unless you got the Lord to help 
you. And if you ’d be willin’ to ask his help if 
you did have your life over again, why don’t 
you be willing now, with what there is of life left 
you? Peter dealt out to me Sunday night that 
story ’bout the thief on the cross, and he was 
nigher to dyin’ than you be. If Peter Gess got 
religion out a sittin’ on a curb-stone, why can’t 
you get it while you ’re lyin’ here in bed ? You 
can, too, and if you do n’t, it’ s all because you 
wont. Ain’t that so, Peter?” 


248 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


“ It ’s about the long an’ short of it J’rushy,” 
said Peter. 

Very rough and ready talk this, but clinched 
with the works of mercy which are the fruits 
of the Spirit. Peter Gess commended his faith 
by his works, which set Rufus to a deep think- 
ing. As he lay in bed there he summed him- 
self up, and found himself no better than that 
“ staff of a broken reed, Egypt, whereon if a man 
lean it will go into his hand and pierce it.” The 
door was open to the kitchen, Peter, Jerusha and 
the five children were at their scanty breakfast, 
very thin tea, very dry bread, infinitesimal scraps 
of bacon. Rufus spoke. '‘Peter, my way of 
life has been, ‘as if a man did flee from a lion 
and a bear met him ; and he went into the 
house and leaned his hand upon the wall, and 
a serpent bit him.” Ah, it ’s been from folly to 
folly.” 

“ Pardner, is that you quoted from the Holy 
Book ?” asked Peter. 

“ It is so. Bible ; Prophet Amos.” 

“ Pardner, I make myself surprised at the 
amount of that Holy Book you know, not being 
religious.” , 

“It was literature, man, literature,” said 
Rufus. “ You don’t understand that side of it, 
but I ’m educated. Yes, that book is prime liter- 
ature, prime. If a m.an hasn’t brains enough 


AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS, 


249 


to see that, why he is not worthy to be called a 
scholar, scarcely a gentleman.” 

“Oh, if he ain’t the beatin’est, owdaciousest 
man to go on and talk,” said Jernshy, putting 
her bit of bacon on Peter’s plate. 

An hour later the Bible Nurse had just gone 
in to look after Rufus Hapgood, when a boy 
came in, lugging a basket, a large bundle, and a 
brown paper, containing about ten pounds of 
beef fresh from the butcher’s. “ Miss Cardiff’s 
cornin’ in to see you. Miss Gess, after ’bout an 
hour,” he said panting. 

Jerusha Gess wrung a quart or so of water 
from the front of her garments, wiped wreaths 
of soap suds from her brawny arms, and called 
loudly for the nurse. “ I say, nurse, sure as 
I ’m a livin’ woman I guess you ’ll find the clean 
bedding you was wishin’ for in this here bundle, 
come from Miss Cardiff. Look at that there 
basket, packed full, with that pretty little green 
shade lamp stuck a top ! Ai n’t that real poetic ? 
Do see that meat ! Where ’s my big pot ? I ’ll 
have half of it on boilin’ to onct ! It makes my 
mouth water to see it ! Seem’s jest as if I could 
eat a slice raw, I ’m so hungry. Kin I wait tell 
dinner ? Guess I ’ll have to.” 

The nurse took a keen look at the large-boned 
coarse skinned woman before her. There were 
hollows in Jerusha’s freckled cheeks, her eyes 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


230 

were a trifle sunken, her throat shown by the 
carelessly half-buttoned gown, was flabby. This 
woman was underfed, she was hungry ; for days 
she had been taking less food than enough, be- 
cause Peter and the children were “so sharp 
set.” And now, for these two or three last days, 
she had been further depriving herself for the 
benefit of her neighbor — not merely to do him 
bodily good, but soul good. A very common, 
homely, ignorant, sloppy, loud-voiced woman, 
this Jerusha Gess, but as the nurse looked at 
her there seemed to shine about the ill-combed 
head an aureola, and its rags of light read, “ I 
was a stranger and ye took me in.” 

“ Sit you down by the oven this minute and 
dry yourself, Jerusha Gess,” said the nurse mag- 
isterially. “ I ’ll finish tending to Hapgood pre- 
sently. You’re the mother of a family, and you 
need a little looking after.” 

She unpacked the basket, cut a thick slice 
of bread from the beautiful white loaf, buttered 
it liberally, then spread jam on two soda crack- 
ers, made a strong cup of tea and put white 
sugar therein. 

“ Now, Mrs. Gess, that you ’ll eat before you 
rise from your chair. After that, as the young 
ladies is coming back, you clear up this room a 
bit ; pile up the wash clothes in one place, wipe 
the water from the floor, and put on a clean 
apron. I ’ll get Hapgood in neat order.” 


AS THE SEA IS FULL OF SHIPS. 


251 


The door burst open and a boy almost fell 
in. “Peck of apples, an’ peck of ’taters, for 
Mrs. Gess.” 

Jerusha’s mouth was full ; so was her heart. 
She held up her hands, a cup of tea in one, a 
cracker with jam in the other. When the power 
of speech returned, she exclaimed, “ Well, if Miss 
Cardiff’s Christianity is common Christianity, 
ai n’t it just the uncommonest kind ever you 
heard tell of !” 

Jean had, soon after leaving home, overtaken 
her friend Miss Cary, and invited her to go down 
to Kelso Street with her. After leaving the 
basket which caused so much happiness, they 
went to see old Mrs. Martin. The dame was in 
the room which the two young girls had made 
comfortable for her. In one corner sat Mrs. 
Finck’s twins, playing with bits of blocks gath> 
ered for them by Aleck Lindsay when the 
Gridley property was repaired. 

“ The mother ’s gone to take her sewing back 
to the hospital,” said the old lady. “ I ’m mind- 
in’ the childer. She helps me, an’ I helps her. 
It ’s the way the world gets on, or ought to get 
on, eh ?” 

“So it is,” said Miss Cary ; “and I’m sure 
you help by your good example, Mrs. Martin. 
How could any of your neighbors be slovenly, 
when you are so clean ! Here in your room it 


233 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


is clean in corners and behind doors, and mo- 
ther says that ’s a test.” 

“ Aye, ' the eyes of the Lord are in every 
place,’ ” said Mrs. Martin. “ When I was a young 
slip of a girl, I was reading my Bible through, 
by course as you may say, and I came to where 
the Lord makes special orders how the camp of 
Israel must be kept clean, because the Lord walks 
abroad in it. Then I saw that the Lord demands 
us to be clean and orderly on His account, and 
as much at back doors and stairs and in dark 
bits of closets as out in front steps or fine places. 
So after that I always tried to have all about me 
neat and clean, because the Lord is everywhere.” 

“ If you talk like that to your neighbors it 
should do good.” 

“ Aye, Miss, I talk ; but talkin’ is small use 
unless folks lays it to heart. We are all of us 
far more given to not heeding than to heeding, 
and the Lord is very patient with us in all our 
ill mannerly ways !” 

















w 




TWO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL, 


25S 


CHAPTER XIII. 

TWO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL. 

“ For ’t is sweet to stammer one letter, 

Of the Eternal’s language — on earth ’tis called forgiveness.” 

Where was John? Where was the Coral 
Queen ? Where when the Christmas tide came, 
where when the New Year dawned upon the 
earth ? Where as the days that had begun to 
lengthen again followed each other in steady, 
ceaseless march ? Where were the crew of the 
Coral Queen, where was Captain Locke? The 
sea is full of ships, but not one of them sighted 
the Coral Queen, none of them saw her cloud 
of canvass, a stately pyramid white against the 
sun ; not one saw her scudding by before a gale ; 
the islands knew her not for the sea had claimed 
its own. 

When the Coral Queen left the Straits of 
Magellan and stood up toward Chiloe Island, 
John Cardiff, who had at the beginning of the 
voyage been carried aboard in an almost dying 
condition, was up, on deck, doing duty as a hand 
before the mast. He was on common sailor’s 
footing, slept in the forecastle, ate with the 
other sailors, shared their work. Captain Locke, 


254 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


who when the lad was desperately ill and weak, 
had nursed him in fatherly fashion, as John 
strengthened became more and more rigorous, 
for these rigors were part of the physical and 
moral cure that was to be wrought in the youth. 

John had rebelled against work. I ’m a 
passenger ; I can pay my way,” he sulked. 

“This ship don't carry passengers,” said 
Captain Locke, “you were simply a raw sailor, 
brought aboard sick, as unfortunately many are 
brought aboard drunk. Work you must, my 
lad, and no rebelling. I should be sorry to put 
you in irons ; but I sail this ship.” 

John realized that he was in the hands of an 
autocrat ; the captain of a ship afloat is more 
absolute a ruler than the Czar of all the Russias. 

John did his work, but fretted against the 
food; he wanted “something decent to eat.” 
Captain Locke smiled drily. “ The food seems 
to agree with you, my lad ; go look in the glass 
in my cabin ; you are a heartier looking chap 
than when you shipped.” 

John looked: yes, his face was bronzed and 
well filled out, his shoulders had straightened 
and broadened, he held up his head and seemed 
to have grown taller; he was man enough to 
feel honest pride in his more manly and vigor- 
ous appearance. 

“ I 'm satisfied with the effects of your grub. 


TIVO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL, 235 

my boy,” grinned Captain Locke ; “ eat all you 
want of it.” 

John wearied of shipboard ; he wanted to go 
ashore, as the others did in turn when they made 
landings. He wanted to step on dry land in 
Patagonia. “Go scrape the mast!” roared Cap- 
tain Locke. 

Might he not go ashore at Valdivia or Con- 
cepcion ? “ Scrub those decks !” commanded the 
captain. 

When others had holiday at Valparaiso, John 
was slung outside the Coral Queen on a board 
held by ropes, and was re-painting the red and 
blue stripes above the water-line, also spattering 
himself grievously with pigment. 

Hard lines these for John Cardiff, but they 
toughened up his fibre bodily and mentally, and 
when the islands of Juan Fernandez sunk in the 
eastward wake of the Coral Queen, John was as 
active, hearty and biddable a seaman as was 
rated on the vessel. In these days the story of 
the Coral Queen was as that of Enoch Arden’s 
ship Good Fortune : 

“Yet unvext 

She slipped across the summer of the world. 

Then after tumbling long about the Cape, 

And frequent interchange of foul and fair, 

She passing through the summer world again, / 
The breath of heaven came continuously, 

And sent her sweetly by the golden isles 


236 THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 

Onward toward her oriental haven. 

Through many a fair sea-circle day by day, 

Scarce rocking, her full-breasted figure-head 
Stared at the ripples feathering from her bows : 

Then followed calms, and then winds variable ; 

Then baffling, a long course of them : and at last 
Storm, such as drove her under moonless heavens. 

Till hard upon the cry of ‘ breakers !’ came 
The crash of ruin and the loss of all.” 

It could not be told better. There was a day 
that saw a small open boat containing Captain 
Locke, John and the Scotch second-mate. There 
was a day when Captain Locke, having died 
from injuries received in the storm, was lowered 
gently overboard by John and the mate, John 
wishing with all his heart that he had shown 
more gratitude to that good man who had done 
so much for him. 

There was a day when John woke from a 
heavy sleep, and found himself of all human 
beings “ the loneliest on a lonely sea.” While he 
slept the mate had disappeared : fallen over- 
board, or flung himself overboard in delirium. 
The little boat rolled on the long slow swells of 
a hot oily -looking sea. There was a keg of 
water and a bag of biscuit under one of the 
thwarts covered with a piece of sail ; that was 
all the fortune of the heir of the Cardiffs. An 
oar stuck upright and bearing Captain Locke’s 
shirt for a flag of distress was a signal which 


TIVO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL. 


257 


there was no eye to see. There was no wind 
and the torn shirt wrapped itself idly about the 
oar. Moaning his horror and despair, John lay 
over on his face. Something in the fullness of 
his woolen jersey pressed hard against him. 
When he and the others had run to grasp some- 
thing to take aboard the boats, John had been 
moved by thought of Jean to crowd his mother’s 
Bible in his bosom. He had it there now, his 
only companion on the great deep. 

Despairing as he lay there, the contact of 
that book drew him into a train of sad and ten- 
der memories, and those vague or bitter regrets 
which attend even the most blameless course of 
life. How good Jean had always been to him, 
and how selfish he had been to her ! How sorry 
he was that at Chiloe he had been so cross, be- 
cause Captain Locke had refused him leave to 
go ashore, that he had failed to send home a 
letter ! He thought that if he had known that 
this voyage was to end in his death, known that 
he was never to see home again, that letter 
which he mailed at Valparaiso should have been 
more loving ; he would have begged Jean’s par- 
don for the griefs he had caused her ; he would 
have penned the real regrets that lay deep in 
his heart, the shame, the penitence ; surely he 
would have said that she had done all for him 
that could have been done, to save him from 

17 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


258 

self. There too, was Aunt Prudence: John had 
cultivated dislike toward her ; but now tossing 
in this open boat at sea, within an inch of death, 
how restful and beautiful seemed the orderly, 
elegant home over which Aunt Prudence so 
quietly presided ; how motherly she had been to 
him, how patient, how full of good offices ! He 
knew that she loved him and he had rejected 
her love. John wished that at Juan Fernandez 
he had written to Aunt Prudence an affectionate, 
respectful, repentant letter, instead of writing 
that fretful screed to Mr. Dysart, which finally 
he had forgotten to mail. John did not know 
that the Valparaiso letter never reached his sis- 
ter, and that already time had grown into 
months since she had heard from him. 

Thus John, lying hopeless in his boat, trod 
the ways of shame and remorse, wished too late 
that he had made better use of himself, and held 
converse with approaching death. Darkness 
fell with the suddenness of the tropic night; 
cooler winds breathed over the desolate lad’s 
face ; he sat up ; the sky was sown with stars ; 
that scintillating dome seemed not far away. 
Of the many who suffer shipwreck how few are 
the saved ; John scarcely recognized a hope of 
rescue ; these waters were so wide, so empty of 
sails, they had shown themselves so strong. 
Evidently he must die ! What then ? He was 


TWO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL. 


259 


young, life rebelled in him at the thought of 
going out so suddenly. Did he wish he had 
never yielded to come on this voyage ? No, he 
realized that if he had not come, then these 
many months he would have lain in the family 
vault, as self-destroyed as any suicide. He had 
manliness to feel glad that he had come away, 
had recovered physical tone, and that now if he 
died, it would be by visitation of God and not 
by service of the devil. Had John died there at 
home that last May, now nearly ten months 
gone, only one epitaph would have served him. 
The wages of sin is death.” 

John breathed deeply and stretched out his 
arms ; he could not remember that he had ever 
before been so muscular and full of vigor. This 
physical tone was a good thing to feel, but what 
mental or moral tone had he recovered in this 
voyage? The lad was not given to introspec- 
tion ; he had never made any close acquain- 
tance with himself, yet having good brains and 
being so solemnly set facing death, John began 
to look at his real self, that inner ego which could 
not perish in these waters. What of that ? He 
realized that his very preference for the death 
that stared him now in the face, as against that 
dying of his own reckless courses at home, 
showed some moral betterment ; of late had he 
been planning to resume his old idle dissipated 


26 o 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


life when he reached home, or to play the part 
of a man ? Certainly he had meant to live or- 
derly, and within him had risen a healthy dis- 
gust for evil. Yes, he was more of a man, more 
of a decent fellow, he was glad of that; but 
what of that great future life the sea-gate of 
which seemed set open so near him, death bid- 
ding him enter. Captain Locke, he was a good 
man, he had shown himself a Christian captain 
all along; feeling himself dying he had said. 
Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,” and so had 
fallen peacefully asleep. The mate, too, had 
been a Christian man ; always reading his Bible 
when at leisure ; he had prayed aloud and fer- 
vently only last night. Was John good with 
that fashion of Christian goodness ? Ready to 
die with that fashion of readiness? No; he 
knew he was not. The mate had prayed for 
him ; he knew that Aunt Prudence and Jean 
prayed for him daily, fervently ; yet in such a 
crisis as this, surely he ought to do some pray- 
ing for himself. He had not prayed since he 
dropped his childish “Now I lay me.” What 
should he pray for ? To be rescued, of course, 
to get home safely, to be allowed to live out his 
allotted human years, doing a man’s work 
among men. 

But suppose that was impossible ? It seemed 
impossible, here in the dark lonely night, silent. 


TIVO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL, 261 

but for the lapping of water on the sides of the 
boat. He must pray also for that soul-rescue, 
that hope after death, without which he must 
drop into eternal night. John had not the least 
thought of ending when he disappeared under 
these waters ; continuous life confronted him, 
existence was permanent before him, but what 
kind of an existence should it be ? These were 
terrible thoughts, forced upon John who had 
heretofore only thought of his pleasures. He 
searched his mind for some form of prayer, 
some portraiture of the Being to whom only he 
could turn in this distress. Who was He, far- 
off, holy, unseen, wrapped in infinity? This 
wrecked human creature could not from his 
lowly distance even touch His garment’s hem. 
Then slowly crept out upon the palimpsest of 
his mind, overlain so long with the handwriting 
of folly, but discovered now by close searching, 
something heard in church or read in story, of a 
gracious One, in night - blackness and storm, 
moving along the surface of a restless sea to- 
ward a little tossing helpless boat — a presence 
goodly, majestical, compassionate, walking upon 
the waters — an agonized human face looking 
into the blackness, crying, “ Lord ! If it be thou, 
bid me come unto thee !” — and the voice that 
through all the eternities had ruled heaven, said 
gently, “ Come.” Here was humanity, divinity. 


262 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


sympathy, power, help. The view of the hither- 
to unheeded Galilean grew upon John in the 
night, and stretching forth his arms he cried 
wildly into the black silence, “ Lord, have mercy 
upon me, a sinner !” It was born in upon John’s 
mind that he was not alone : there was an eye 
that saw him, an ear that heard him, a heart 
that compassionated him. This consoled him, 
and after a while in the dark quiet he fell asleep. 
When the morning came he ate and drank, and 
found himself calculating how long his little 
stores would hold out, if used very sparingly. 

He took the Bible from his jacket; the book 
seemed to come to him direct from the hands of 
his mother and sister. He did not know where 
to look for anything in the book; he did not 
know that there was anything especially helpful 
to find ; he just opened the book and read on. 
But the Lord guides us all ; the place where he 
opened read, “ Out of the depths have I cried 
unto thee ; Lord, hear my voice.” So he read. 

Then, as the sun grew hot, he took two oars 
and a small sail to make a shelter for his head. 
When he opened the book again it was in an- 
other place : “Now when Jesus was born in 
Bethlehem of Judea ;” and he read on there. It 
shortened the hours ; the book seemed compan- 
ionable. Later, he looked over the side of the 
boat and found that he seemed to be in the 


TWO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL. 263 

midst of a school of little fishes. The mate's 
cap lay where it had fallen in the bottom of the 
boat. John used that as a scoop, and caught 
three fish. The fastidious heir of Cardiff was 
glad to eat them raw, to save his other food. 
The coats of Captain Locke and the mate lay in 
the bow of the boat. John got them to make 
his place in the stern softer. He felt something 
hard in a pocket. It was a half-pound tin of 
chocolate. In the mate’s pocket was a big clasp- 
knife and a handful of dried prunes. These 
would preserve life for several days. For how 
many? John remembered that it was now the 
fifth day since the wreck. He cut five notches 
on the side of the boat with his knife. Then he 
went to reading again. 

Thus he spent his time : he read, he slept, he 
mourned over the wrecked past and the wrecked 
present. His little stock of food and water 
dwindled away in an alarming manner, while 
the number of the notches on the boat's side 
increased and increased and increased. There 
were at last twenty-one of them. There had 
been a heavy shower one night; John had 
caught nearly two quarts of water in the keg 
and sail ; he had also stripped and let the 
rain refresh his parched, salt-water-roughened 
body. 

Not a ship had passed him, unless in the 


264 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


night when he had no means of showing him. 
self. He had seen, far down on the horizon, 
some triangular patches ; they might have been 
sails, or they might have been clouds. John 
was bronzed to the tint of an Indian by the sun ; 
he was shrunken to skin, tendons, and bone 
from spare diet ; he slept much now from ex- 
haustion ; he daily expected death, and peace 
had come into his soul out of the book which 
he read and from that merciful One who is not 
far away from any that call upon him. All 
would be right at last; in the years to come 
Jean and Aunt Prudence would know what a 
glad surprise awaited them when they met him 
in heaven. Now, when John felt sleep coming 
on, he always thought it might not end in this 
world, and he whispered, as Captain Locke had, 
“ Lord Jesus, receive my spirit !” 

One day he woke from long sleep. Was this 
‘•that world to come whereof we speak;” this 
with the green palms and pandanus trees, this 
having “ verdure like a succession of green wa- 
terfalls,” this lonely “ beauty beyond imagina- 
tion?” No, this was not the land that lies 
beyond death. John rubbed his eyes and gazed. 
This was a tiny atoll, covered with vegetation ; 
the waves made a foam wreath upon the outer 
coral reef. There was an opening like a gate to 
the still inner lagoon ; over yonder earthly fruits 


TIVO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL. 265 

grew, and earthly streams rippled toward the sil- 
ver sands of the shore. John grasped the tiller 
and steered for his life, directing his boat to that 
narrow gateway in the reef. There was a little 
breeze which blew straight toward the island. 
John made haste to let down one edge of his 
pavilion, fastening it to a thwart so that it would 
act in some sort as a sail. 

In less than two hours the boat had entered 
the lagoon, had been hauled up on the glittering 
white beach ; John had found water, and had 
drunk as if he could never have enough ; he had 
found a cocoanut, he was lying on soft green 
grass, birds wheeled and cried above his head. 
Land ! Land, dear kindly land ! He could not 
realize in that first flush of triumphant joy that 
this was land without a human voice or foot but 
his own, a little beautiful isle, left derelict, far 
from the traffic of men, far from the sister islands 
and the mighty continents. It was land, land of 
soft climate and abundant productions, where 

“It seemed always afternoon ; 

All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 
Breathing like one that had a weary dream." 

Winter never came in that little island where 
John had drifted. Where Jean lived, in the far 
busy North, winter had come and passed, spring 
had tripped along. John had been gone nearly 
a year. No one now expected ever to hear again 


266 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


of the Coral Queen or any who had sailed on her, 
no one but perhaps Jean and Aunt Prudence, 
who hid in their hearts hopes that they dared 
not utter. Not very strong hope was Jean’s, 
surely, for she had quietly dropped the little 
white muslins and ribbons which she had begun 
to assume after her father had been somewhile 
dead, and now again her mourning garb clung 
black and simple about the slender girlish form. 
Still Jean kept a brave face, and went in and 
out doing all her work diligently. Her friend. 
Miss Carey, said to Dr. Yancy, “ Is not our Jean 
wonderful ! See how she bears up.” 

Dr. Yancy replied, “ This is nothing else than 
the mighty power of God ; he is holding her by 
his hand.” 

A little cloud “ no larger than a man’s hand,” 
threatening to gather size and blackness suffi- 
cient to overshadow much of the good that had 
been done, was rising on the Kelso Street hori- 
zon. Fitzig Street lay next to Kelso, and there 
a tall, old, very narrow house had one day so 
far fallen down that its inhabitants camped in 
the street, and the very rats fled it. The city 
authorities ordered it taken down, and there was 
much falling of bricks and other rubbish, much 
selling and stealing of old lumber, and a marked 
rise in the sickness and death-rate of the quar- 
ter, owing to the filling of the air with disease- 


TWO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL, 267 

burdened dust, and the uncovering of gorged 
sewers and drains. 

Dr. Yancy and Mr. Moultrie thought it well 
to buy the lot thus vacated, for their proposed 
chapel. The building would be small and low, 
thus affording a breathing place, permitting 
more light and additional windows for the build- 
ings on each side. They had the other mem- 
bers of their committee to consult after inter- 
viewing the agent about the price. All being 
agreed. Dr. Yancy and Mr. Moultrie returned to 
settle their purchase. The agent looked con- 
fused. I am very sorry to disappoint you, gen- 
tlemen, but Mr. Tubbs has bought that strip of 
ground. He owns the tenement-house beside it, 
and he means to build an addition to it on that 
land.” 

“ I supposed we had the refusal of it for 
thirty-six hours,” said Dr. Yancy stiffly. 

Ah, well, there was no writing in the case ; 
and Mr. Tubbs offered a top price, and owning 
the adjacent house he really seemed to have a 
right to buy it if he chose.” 

“ I can see through that,” said Mr. Moultrie, 
as the two went away disappointed, “ Tubbs has 
given him a hundred or so, douceur*' 

As they passed Rufus Hapgood’s stall he 
beckoned them, and said, “ I ’m afraid you 're 
not going to get that site for the chapel.” 


268 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


What do you know about it, Rufus ?” 

“ I heard the men talk. The fellows who 
have been at work tearing down lunched here 
sometimes. They said Tubbs swore he would n’t 
have any chapel next his house ; he was sick of 
this crusading in the slums ; he would fight to 
the death, from this out, against this petting of 
the poor, this prayer-meeting, free bath, tem- 
perance, front-door-bell, bay-window style of 
work.” 

‘‘ Oh, that ’s it, then ! War declared ?” said 
Dr. Yancy. 

“ To the teeth and knife,” said Rufus, slicing 
cold beef. 

A day or two later as Miss Lacy was sewing 
for Jean, she remarked, I saw a friend of mine, 
forewoman in a wholesale millinery store, the 
other day, and she said she had finally saved up 
five hundred dollars ; and that she meant to 
invest it down in Fitzig Street. Mr. Tubbs is 
going to build five stories high on that lot 
where the house fell, and he means to buy the 
next one to it. Those houses have been bring- 
ing twenty-eight per cent., but he means to 
make them bring forty or forty-five this year.” 

That’s getting your money out of ‘the 
bodies and souls of men,’ which the Apocalypse 
says Great Babylon traded in. Forty per cent, 
means indecency, epidemic, crime. Rufus Hap- 


TIVO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL, 269 

good told Dr. Yancy that there were three 
thousand people now in that block, and they 
call it ‘ Black Maria,’ after the prison van, or, 
*The Calcutta Black Hole,’ those that know 
enough to call it that,” observed Jean. 

Miss Prudence went away to a meeting of 
the Woman’s Refuge Committee. Belle Lacy 
sewed and sighed. There were so many un- 
breathed sighs in Jean’s heart that she was 
tender to such sounds as these. 

“ What is wrong. Miss Lacy ? Is Lois not 
so well?” she asked. “Is your new home un- 
comfortable ? Are you still with the John- 
sons?” 

“ Lois is not sick,” said Miss Lacy, “ but I 
know she will be. We have changed our house 
so much for the worse. Miss Jean! That one 
on Tenth Street suited us so well; in a little, 
sunny nook, quiet and old-fashioned ; you know 
what a nice, bright little garden place we had 
for Lois to work over flowers in. That was be- 
yond all price to me. The doctor says that 
plenty of out-of-doors life is Lois’ only hope. 
Lois is such a splendid hand with flowers, I 
thought we might work on to training her for 
a florist. The Johnsons had to leave ; the house 
was wanted to make room for a big store. I 
had to keep with the Johnsons : a girl and a 
feeble child need be particular where they live. 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


270 

and the Johnsons are so good to Lois all day 
when I am gone, I feel safe about her. This 
new place is in a quiet, respectable neighbor- 
hood, and the rent suits, but there is very little 
sun, only two hours or so a day ; and what is 
worse, no garden-spot. There is one tree on 
the sidewalk near the door, but how can poor 
Lois sit there idle all day ! I feel so sad for the 
little feeble creature, deprived of her garden 
just as spring has come on.” A tear or two fell 
on Miss Lacy’s work. 

Jean felt grieved for Lois too. Jean loved 
flowers passionately ; the conservatory, the banks 
of flowers in the garden, were her delight ; at 
their farm or whenever she went to the moun- 
tains or seaside, the woods and the flowers were 
as precious friends to her. She sympathized in 
Lois Lacy’s infatuation for gardening. 

“Tell me, is there no garden-spot, no space 
at all?” 

“ Nothing but a cold, north corner, shut in 
on two sides by the house, and by the picket- 
fence on the other two. It is about fifteen feet 
square, damp all the time ; grass will not grow 
there, nothing grows but a crop of plantain.” 

“ No sun at all ? Not a ray ?” urged Jean. 

“Well, at noon there is about an hour of 
sun, and from six to eight in the morning. I 
suppose it changes a little as the year changes ; 


TWO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL. 271 

but that is about what there is. I wish you 
could see that useless, ugly, dark, cold, barren, 
north corner ! Dismal, dreary. North Pole and 
Sahara combined !" 

Jean leaned back in her little white rocking- 
chair and fairly laughed aloud at Miss Lacy’s 
tirade. All in black in the white rocker with 
its white satin cushions and ribbons, Jean looked 
a sweet harmony in black and white. Miss 
Lacy glanced over at her and said to herself, 
“ Well, she ’s rich and has all she wants ; the 
world has always gone well with her ; no won- 
der she can laugh.” Miss Lacy forgot that mat- 
ter about John, and that Jean’s heart was always 
drowned in tears for him. 

Dear Miss Lacy,” said Jean, “there never 
was an ugly, barren, cold, desolate spot that 
could not be made beautiful and useful if the 
right things were put into it. ‘God has his 
plan for every man,’ and he has vegetation even 
for cold north corners. God has plant-children 
that will grow there and nowhere else. There 
never was a cold, bleak, dreary, bitter north 
corner of a heart, dear Miss Belle, which could 
not be made to bring forth the fruits of charity, 
mercy, and peace, if the right hands planted 
the right things in the right way. Common- 
sense works with the tools it has. We have 
r Lois needing a garden to work in, and you have 


THE CAEB/FF ESTATE, 


only a north corner for a garden. Let us see 
what can be done with that ! Is the corner bare 
earth or paved ?” 

“There is a little pavement about the hy- 
drant that stands there. Poor Lois looks at her 
hoe, rake, spade, and trowel with tears in her 
eyes. Well, it can’t be helped.” 

“You’re too gloomy and despairing. Miss 
Belle. Cheer up, and get on with your sewing. 
I ’m going to call on Lois and see that cold 
north corner which you so feelingly describe.” 

Jean was gone a number of hours. “Lois 
and I drove about in my coup^, and we had 
lunch at a restaurant,” she reported on her re- 
turn. 

“ I know that made her happy ; but is n’t the 
north corner all I said it was?” exclaimed Miss 
Belle. 

“ ‘ I came, I saw, I conquered,’ ” smiled Jean. 
Grappling successfully with a difficulty had 
cheered her. “ I left Lois very happy, digging 
up plantain. I took her a thick, little square 
rug, which Mrs. Dali has sent to the garret, that 
will keep her from getting cold. I bought two 
light boards, twelve feet long, had them' nailed 
V-wise with a support at one end and little 
wheels. That is for watering the north corner 
when it is full of flowers. Wheeled under the 
hydrant, one end resting near the house wall 


TIVO WOMEN AND A PRODIGAL. 


273 


where the earth is highest, the stream will irri- 
gate all the ground as it finds its way back to 
the drain in the brick pavement. I bought two 
boards to lay for paths for Lois to walk upon, 
dividing her north corner into beds. Mrs. John- 
son gave us three little boxes, which Lois is to 
paint red and set upon bricks, for growing vines 
in. Mr. Johnson supplied some tough hoops 
from old barrels, and Lois is to break these into 
lengths and make a basket-work border for her 
flower-beds.” 

But what can you grow in those flower- 
beds, Miss Jean ?” 

“In the boxes we are to have inch-plant, 
tradescantia you know, and money-wort; they 
like shade. When the plantain is all out, and 
Mr. Johnson and Lois have made the earth fine, 
we mean to plant lilies of the valley, verbena, a 
pair of big fuschias, violets, garden valerian, 
and heliotrope. These I have ordered at a flor- 
ist’s. Then Lois and I are going to drive out 
to the woods, for a day, taking Mr. and Mrs. 
Johnson ; then we shall bring back no end of 
ferns, arum, bath-flowers, crane’s-bill, all kinds 
of sweet wild flowers that love the moist shade 
and fear the sun. Oh, there are plenty of flow- 
ers that thrive best in shade and moisture. 
Lois is going to create a little paradise out of 
her north corner ! It shall be a paradise to us 

18 


274 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


too, above the lonely, uncared-for, cold, north 
corner hearts.” 

“ I know poor Lois is nearly wild with joy !” 
said Belle. 

“ Yes, to-day is a golden milestone in her 
life.” 

“ I ’m glad God made you rich. Miss Jean!” 
cried Miss Lacy impulsively, you are as gener- 
ous as the sun !” 


THE YOUNG MAN’S MODEL, 


275 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE YOUNG MAN’S MODEL, 

“ Whom soft-eyed pity once led down from heaven 
To bleed for man, to teach him how to live, 

And oh, still harder lesson, how to die !” 

Mr. Tubbs’ house on Fitzig Street sprang up 
like a mushroom or like Jonah’s gourd. Its five 
stories shut out the light and air of heaven from 
many a heavy-hearted wretch who “ did not so 
much as know whether there be a heaven.” 
There were rooms with windows opening upon 
foul stairways, rooms opening their windows 
upon dead walls four or five feet distant ; there 
were rooms having neither door nor window 
except such as opened on another room. There 
was no attempt made to rent such rooms to one 
family. The inner room might be rented to 
some other family or even to single men, and 
these of known riotous and drunken character. 
If widows, girls, single women complained to 
the agent of such leasing and trespass, he leered 
at them, asked if for their miserable rent 
money they expected the earth,” and added that 
“ they must be badly off for complaint to make 
a fuss about nothing.” 

One such inside room was rented to a very 


276 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


unruly drunkard, the outer room being the 
home of two unmarried Polish sisters. These 
women, keeping starvation at bay with their 
needles, kept under their one straw pillow a 
huge knife of a razor-like sharpness. If in some 
night of darkness the cry of “murder” had 
rung out and this knife had been found piercing 
the drunkard, Mr. Tubbs’ agent would have 
thrown up his hands, appealing to Providence 
and the general public as to why the poor classes 
had such ungovernable dispositions. No doubt 
many of the general public would have asked 
the same question. 

Mr. Tubbs and his agent were of one mind 
about renting. “ Crowd them in ; double them 
up ; they ’re all the same as rats.” Said Mr. 
Tubbs, “ These church people round here, who 
spend their time in pampering the poor, like 
Scripture so well, let ’s give it to ’em. Crowd 
’em in, ' good measure, filled up, pressed down, 
shaken together, running over ;’ that ’s in the 
Bible, ai n’t it, or something near it ? Let 'em 
have it.” 

And eyes that were anointed to see — angels’ 
eyes, for instance — unless they were tear-blind, 
saw these houses becoming great nurseries of 
crime and sorrow. 

The summer came ; people with comfortable 
homes felt that they must leave the city to pre- 


THE YOUNG MAN'S MODEL. 


277 


serve health ; people with uncomfortable homes 
were obliged to stay and endure. Jean thought 
on these things as she went about among the 
people around Kelso Street, making what plans 
she might for their comfort before she left them. 
Beautiful is summer when one can seek her on 
the cool mountains, among the flower -sown 
meadow lands, or by the solemn splendors of the 
sea ; but summer sweeps down like the Valkyr 
on those who gasp and scorch in the tenement- 
houses. There must be tenement-houses and 
people who live in them, and they must be in 
the crowded streets of the town, because the 
workers who dwell in them must be near their 
work. Given all these musts,” it is only hu- 
manity to make the tenements as healthy and 
comfortable as is possible. 

Said Jean to Jerusha Gess, I am going to 
send a dozen little children, and one or two mo- 
thers who are feeble, out into the country. I 
wish I could send you all out.” 

Jerusha laughed her loud, cheery laugh. 
“ Oh, miss, what 'd ever the men do for food an* 
washin’ an’ mending up, if we women was all 
gone ? An’ if we went, men an’ all, like Peter 
was readin’ t ’other night those Israel folks went 
to the wilderness, why whatever ’d the city do 
for work, or whatever ’d we do for livin’ next 
winter? Don’t you fret about us, miss; we’re 


2^8 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


well off in your houses compared to most. So 
long ’s we do n’t have to tumble over drunken 
men lyin’ asleep in hallways ; so long as we 
have water enough laid on, an’ drains as is n’t 
clogged, and so long as we ’ve winders an’ doors 
enough, we ’ll do. Did you hear what a dretful 
thing happened las’ night over in Tubbs’ house 
in Fitzig Street? A woman there, these hot 
times, in a ten-by-fourteen room, with two beds 
in it an’ a stove, hed three men to cook for — 
her husband, her brother, an’ a boarder. She 
hed a baby six months old, and it was sick, as 
you’d s’pose it couldn’t help bein’, she havin’ 
to keep fire up in that little crowded room. So 
last evenin’, about ten, she sets down side the 
winder, an’ holdin’ the baby in her arms, lays it 
on a bit of a piller on the winder-sill to give it a 
breath of air an’ see if it ’ud stop moanin’ an’ 
sleep. So by-and-by it did, and by-and-by, bein’ 
it was her first chance of rest for many hours, 
she dropped off too, an’ slep’ so hard, the baby 
she let loose of it unknowing whatever, an’ it 
fell, fourth story it was, an’ lay dead on the walk, 
an’ there the father an’ the other two, cornin’ 
home latish an’ drunk, stumbled over it an’ car- 
ried it up, she still sleepin’ on till they shook her 
awake, poor soul! That’s the way babies an’ 
women has to take it. Did I tell you, miss, my 
Samson as is livin’ out in the country, and Bella 


THE YOUNG MAN’S MODEL. 279 

Lu that Mis’ Jennings got a place for, them two 
is savin’ every cent to get me a gasoline stove, 
so I wont have it so hot in here summers ; an’ 
me an’ Peter we reckons we can buy gasoline 
now there ’s two less mouths to fill. Wont it be 
nice ? It ’s them blazin’ hot stoves what does it 
summers, dear knows.” 

The Bible nurse was passing the door and 
heard this last remark. “ Yes, indeed,” she said, 
“ the stoves are terrible ; they burn and scorch 
nights in little rooms where babies or sick peo- 
ple are lying. They cause plenty of disease. 
But, Miss Cardiff, these dreadful rough, broken, 
sewer-filled pavements are the cause of much 
more disease. If the streets could only be re- 
paved !” 

My aunt, Mr. Moultrie, Dr. Yancy, Dr. Im- 
lay, Mr. Jennings, and the others, are busy about 
that now ; they are trying to get the city to pave 
these streets, Kelso, Fitzig, Greble, and the oth- 
ers, especially the courts. Mr. Tubbs is fighting 
hard against it ; he says it ’s a shame to spend 
the city’s funds paving streets that nobody en- 
ters.” 

Nobody ! That block of his is the most 
crowded place in all the city ! Nobody ! More 
people go on these very streets than on any other 
streets of the city,” cried the nurse. 

“ That is what he was told. Last night our 


28 o 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


parlors were filled with gentlemen who are inter- 
ested in repaving these very crowded streets. 
The mayor of Allegheny says that nothing had 
so helped the health, cleanliness, and thriftiness 
of his city as repaving the courts, alleys, and 
tenement-house streets. He said the women 
scrubbed the asphalt as if it were a parlor, and 
then scrubbed their steps, floors, windows, chil- 
dren, and themselves to match. I hope, nurse, 
we’ 11 see all these streets well paved before long, 
Mr. Tubbs to the contrary-” 

The Bible woman came up with some one’s 
baby in her arms. Miss Cardiff, is n’t it a 
shame that the city has not building laws to con- 
trol such abuses as that terrible barracks of Mr. 
Tubbs that they call the Black Maria ? I cannot 
begin to tell you of the crimes and miseries of 
that place. I said right out to the agent when I 
met him last week, ‘ That ’s a nuisance that ought 
to be abated.’ I said, * I think there should be 
a law of limitation for such crowding of houses. 
It ’s a crime !’ And he laughed out, and says 
he, ‘ There ’s no statute of limitations for crimes, 
my good woman. If that ’s a crime it can’t be 
limited, and it ’s not likely to be abolished.’ So 
I says to him, ‘ Mark my words, the Lord will 
take you and that block in hand yet, and Mr. 
Tubbs too. You ’ll see.’ ” 

All these affairs and discussions, all these 


THE YOUNG MAN'S MODEL, 281 

efforts to better the lot of such fellow-creatures 
as she found in her way of life, made life livable 
to Jean even in this dreadful loss of her dearly- 
loved twin. The cries of suffering humanity 
echoing in her heart sometimes stifled that long- 
ing cry for her John. 

John was still there on his island. Palms 
and bread-fruit trees waved above him ; green 
earth was under his feet : he had woven a booth 
to live in ; around his island lay a still blue 
lagoon, in whose shallow waters were beautiful 
living things ; beyond the lagoon broke a white 
wreath of foam, that sometimes sighed, and 
sometimes chanted, and sometimes crashed like 
thunder, if the winds rose high; beyond the 
reef with its pounding waters was the wide 
mocking sea. John had found in the pocket of 
Captain Locke’s coat a pencil and a little note- 
book. He daily made a line of record of his 
stay. On the fly-leaf of his Bible he wrote a 
note to Jean and Aunt Prudence. Some time, 
when he was dead, these notes might be found 
and carried home to set at rest the unquiet of 
his friends, he thought. 

As for dying, however, there was not much 
like it in John’s case ; he had good air, plenty to 
eat ; he was no more the slim, soft-muscled, ner- 
vous, irritable lad ; he had broadened and grown, 
his muscles were knit like steel, he was straight, 


282 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


active, hardy, bronzed, a young athlete. Only 
the penetrating eye of love, like Jean’s, would 
have known John now. 

How often God has led into the wilderness 
the souls he loves, to speak comfortably unto 
them, to educate them, to give them their vine- 
yards from thence. Moses lived long in the 
Midian deserts, and Samuel for twenty years 
was moulded in solitary companionship with 
God. David abode for years in the mountains, 
and John Baptist in the desert. The path into 
solitude is the path many have trodden. John 
Cardiff got his best schooling there. He had 
silence, time, his Bible. Death, who had sat 
staring at him on the thwart of the jolly-boat, 
had given way now to an accusing presence — 
his past. That inexorable past challenged him, 
pointing out his every footprint, as he had trod- 
den his reckless selfish way, and John, unable to 
escape the lesson set him, gazed at it day by 
day, and hated and abhorred himself, and re- 
pented in dust and ashes. 

So he was three months upon the island. 

One day he had fallen into a heavy sleep. 
He lay stretched out under some palm-trees be- 
side a spring, a large spring, the only one upon 
the island. John kept near that spring, for there 
were signs there which suggested that sailors 
knew the place, and came to it to renew their 


THE YOUNG MAN'S MODEL, 283 

supply of water. So, as lie lay asleep that day, 
a shout aroused him. He opened his eyes ; 
there were three sailors about him. To John, 
over three months shut out from the sight of 
humanity, these three sailors appeared as an- 
gels. If they were angels, however, they were 
fallen angels, and emissaries from the pit of per- 
dition. A fourth sailor sat in a little boat where 
were two water-casks, a fifth was examining 
John’s boat, the jolly-boat of the Coral Queen, 
drawn up upon the sand. John had been think- 
ing of late that he must make some provision of 
food and water for a trip, and put to sea again 
in that boat. Now here were men, sailors, and 
lo, their ship rocked gently on the water, just 
outside of the entrance to the lagoon. 

These sailors were English, Irish, German, a 
French Canadian, and a man from Maine ; the 
sound of the English tongue, albeit very roughly 
spoken, was sweet as the mocking-bird’s falling 
song on the ear of John Cardiff. Here were 
friends, helpers ; here lay the way to home, to 
Jean ! 

The men were from the barkantine Kitty- 
hawk, from Nova Scotia, homeward bound after 
a two-years’ cruise of general trading. John, 
having no luggage, was easily transferred to the 
vessel. While the men filled their water-casks, 
John loaded his jolly-boat with cocoanuts and 


284 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


other fruit, and it was taken in tow by the yawl 
of the Kittyhawk. Thus John Cardiff returned 
to the busy ways of men. 

“What’s that?” shouted the captain of the 
Kittyhawk as he watched his yawl’s return. 

“ Shipwrecked feller, an’ his boat,” shouted 
some one. 

“ Well, captain, I ’ll have you to thank for a 
passage home,” cried John, joyfully clambering 
to the deck of the Kittyhawk. 

“ You will, will you ? Now that ’s cheek ! 
Nothin’ for nothin’ ’s my motto,” quoth the cap- 
tain of the Kittyhawk. “ However, as I'm a 
hand short, an’ you look a likely foremast hand, 
I ’ll carry you along.” 

“As for that,” said John, “I can easily pay 
you for my passage home, as soon as you land 
me ; I happen to be rich.” 

The captain broke into a loud guffaw, and 
remarked that he ‘heard ducks.’ “You look 
like a bloated millionaire, you do,” added the 
captain. “ What ’s them breeches worth, and do 
you call them patent-leather boots ?” 

John sav/ that he had erred vehemently in 
boasting, when there was only his word to go 
for what he had. The barkantine, the captain 
and crew were terribly dirty and rough, and 
John had been heartily calculating at least to 
get home as a passenger. The captain, how- 


THE YOUNG MAN'S MODEL, 283 

ever, looked sneeringly at him ; the men, tak- 
ing their cue from the petty tyrant of the Kitty- 
hawk, roared with laughter. 

“At least,” said John, “my jolly-boat is a 
good one, and worth something as payment for 
passage.” 

“ Do you suppose, you idiot, that I 'm going 
to pay for a jolly-boat picked up derelict ? Find- 
ing 's keepings ; especially at sea. Ho, there, 
you rascals, we can’t stop all day talking with 
this beggar gentleman. If he don’t like my 
terms, row him to his island, but bring back the 
jolly-boat for your trouble. Come now, tumble 
in, my lad, or go to your place as foremast 
hand.” 

John plucked up his courage to reply, “ Well, 
captain, if that ’s your decision I must make the 
best I can of it.” 

Bad enough the best was. This crew seemed 
made up of the very off-scourings of their re- 
spective nations : filth, profanity, indecency, 
brawls, brutality, were the order of the day. 
The captain set the tune to this key, and all the 
rest sung after him. John thought the ship’s 
name should have been Pandemonium. The 
owners of the barkantine must have been men 
of the same ilk, content to gather up the dregs 
of seafaring men for the sake of serving worse 
pay and worse and scantier rations than other 


286 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


men would ship for. The food was simply 
abominable. 

John looked back to the exquisite cleanliness 
of the Coral Queen, the carefully cooked whole- 
some food, the cheerfulness, the kindliness ; no 
quarrels, no oaths, as much rest on Sabbath as 
could be secured, and a Sabbath service read by 
Captain Locke : a library for the crew, kind at- 
tention for any one who was sick or injured ; 
the captain an autocrat, but a genial fatherly 
autocrat, humanely interested in all who sailed 
with him. Well, the good captain, the staunch 
ship, and all that kindly crew lay in the Pacific’s 
depths, and John, sole survivor, was in this 
floating horror the Kittyhawk. One night as 
he stood his watch, counting how many days it 
would be before land and home would greet 
him, he wondered if this Kittyhawk were not 
the most horrible place on earth ; then his mind 
reverted to what his aunt and sister had said of 
the horrors of some tenement-houses, of those 
very houses against whose betterment he had 
fought so bitterly. Surely they were worse than 
the Kittyhawk, because around the ship blew 
the strong, pure, life-giving breezes of the sea ; 
she had pure air, they had none ! 

John may have begun to hate sin for sin’s 
own hatefulness, to be penitent for his past ; but 
here in the Kittyhawk for him sin verily became 


THE YOUNG MAN'S MODEL. 287 

the cure of sin : the serpent healed the serpent’s 
bite ; for oh what infinite unutterable disgust 
this rampant vice around him wrought in his 
soul ! ‘ Sick of sin ’ : John knew all the rest of 
his life what that meant. The ship was a moral 
sewer, in which he was plunged head deep all 
those terrible ninety odd days : how his soul 
cried out for purity, for reverence, for quiet, for 
peace, for goodness. 

Physically too he suffered. Had it not been 
for those two coats, of Captain Locke and the 
mate, John might have frozen going through 
the Magellan Straits ; but one coat he wore over 
his own jumper, the other he traded for a pair 
of trowsers. When the Kitty hawk began to run 
up toward the equator it was hot enough ; finally 
after passing the latitude of the Carol inas, it was 
cold again, for now November had come. 

During these days that Bible was his one 
comfort ; it kept his heart up to count how each 
lapsing day set him nearer the land of his de- 
sire, and then, better still, those blessed words 
seemed as clean waters, washing from his mind 
the iniquity that on every side rained upon him. 
Seeing his love for his book, and his reading in 
spare hours, his mess-mates agreed to take it 
from him. John, however, was physically and 
mentally alert ; he was on his guard, and he was 
no longer a weakly lad. 


288 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE, 


“ Heave that wad of paper overboard, or I ’ll 
do it for you,” commanded the chosen emisary, 
while his mates looked on in high glee. 

“ Let me alone, and I ’ll let you alone, mate,” 
said John. 

“Pitch it over, I say!” cried the sailor, 
springing forward. 

Then that sailor lay on his back, on the deck, 
seeing queer things like fireworks above him, 
and John read on. A second sailor dashed up, 
but John recalled a lesson of Mr. Moultrie’s, 
which once he had not had muscle to make 
available. It was available now, and the second 
sailor, falling upon his comrade, found a softer 
place to strike, and fewer stars sparkled about 
him. When the third sailor was added to this 
collection, there seemed to be quite a little heap 
of sailors, and John’s temper was up. His book 
was tucked in his bosom, and both fists being 
doubled, he squared away, prepared to defend 
the gospel of peace by act of war, as has hap- 
pened at other times in the world’s history. 

“ Come on !” he shouted, “ Come on !” A 
loud guffaw from the captain, called attention 
aft. The captain enjoyed a scrimmage among 
his men, as some wretches enjoy cock or dog 
fighting. After that, John was let alone openly, 
but a hundred little hateful tricks played upon 
him made him long for the passing of each day. 


THE YOUNG MAN'S MODEL, 28 g 

Well, they were in port at last. From this 
very port John, surrounded by cares and busi- 
ness, had been carried away more likely to die 
than to live. He came again, big, brown, brawny, 
^©ggared, ragged. He had not a nickel to pay 
a street-car fare ; his shirt and socks were gone, 
his bare toes stuck out of his yawning shoes. 
He asked the captain for pay, with the rest ; he 
had done hard service for three months. 

^‘Your pay!” bellowed the captain. “Who 
signed any articles with you ? What did I agree 
to give you ! It ’s time you were thanking me 
for your life, not asking me to pay for the privi- 
lege of saving you. The voyage is n’t done yet, 
either.” 

Then John considered that he might be 
thankful to get safe ashore as soon as possible. 
He could walk home, and what did he the pro- 
digal, deserve better than to go back barefooted 
and in rags ? Lo, he reaped what he had sown ! 
He rushed across the gangplank and disappeared 
up the dock. Shame suggested narrow and 
back streets, as his course home ; he did not 
realize that he was so changed that his nearest 
friends would not recognize him ; only the keen 
eye of love could see John Cardiff in the burly, 
ragged sailor. He thought of what Naomi had 
said, “ I went out full, and came home empty.” 
Was that true of him? No: he went out the 


19 


2go 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


first day an empty husk of a man, and had come 
back blessed with the indwelling power of God. 
Poor ? Miserable ? No, no ! life lay before him 
fair and inviting, and he had learned how to 
live ! He went on buoyantly. Passing a small 
neat house, in a quiet street there was a window 
open, and some one was singing to the accompa- 
niment of an unusually fine piano. The rich 
tones of the instrument and the full sweetness 
of that contralto voice stayed John’s steps for an 
instant : 

“ For the Lion of Judah shall break every chain, 

And lead us to victory again and again.” 

Then, either that the singer loved the song, or 
that there was some greater depth and sweet- 
ness yet to be attained, the strain resounded 
again gloriously : 

” For the Lion of Judah shall break every chain, 

And lead us to victory again and again.” 

John took that with him as his pledge of help 
from heaven. 

He was coming home — coming to lead a new 
life, to serve God and his fellows ! He had been 
in a hard school, but he had learned the lessons 
that are worth learning. So he went on. The 
afternoon was waning ; it was Indian summer of 
the most golden beauty, and the city lay trans- 
figured in a yellow haze. He turned the corner 
nearest home. 


THE YOUNG MANS MODEL. 2gi 

Yes ; now lie saw his home after long tossing 
on the seas. 

“ The pilot of the Galilean Lake ” had led 
him well ! At the door stood the family car- 
riage, and the well-known bays; Louis held 
the reins. On the threshold Aunt Prudence, 
clad in black ; on the upper step a taller and 
a statelier Jean, also in black. How his heart 
cried out to her ; his eyes seemed to hold her, 
he made a brisker step forward. Jean, drawn 
by the subtle power of love turned ; she darted 
down the steps, along the pave, clasped that un- 
kempt, tatterred wayfarer in her strong young 
arms, and hugged him to her faithful heart. 
At that moment it seemed as if neither earth 
nor heaven had more nor better to offer Jean ! 

It was the inimitable old story retold. There 
was the ring for the hand and the best robe, the 
shoes for the feet. There was wild hurrying in 
the Cardiff household that day ; the servants 
dashed hither and yon ; the barber, tailor and 
bootmaker came in hot haste ; the kitchen was 
all astir to prepare a feast ; the little page-boy 
was dizzy with errands ; and Jean through the 
telephone summoned Mr. Dysart, Dr. Yancy, 
Dr. Imlay, to welcome John. Then with notes 
of joy such as seldom ring over telephone wires, 
told this one and that one— Mrs. Jennings, Miss 
Cary, dozens more, the joyful story. 


2g2 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


‘‘This my brother was dead and is alive 
again ; he was lost and is found.” 

“John,” said Jean, looking at her brother, 
“What did it?” 

“Jean, I had no human being near me, only 
God and his Book. There in the book I found 
The Young Man’s Model. One so noble and 
so gracious as made all else poor and mean 
compared to him, the guilty and lost sinner’s 
friend. His redeeming work suited my case. 
His inviting voice called me. His character 
grew upon me day by day, and finally God 
stamped a little of it in my heart.” 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 


293 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 

“ The sword 

Of Michael, from the armory of God 
Was given him, tempered so that neither keen 
Nor solid might revert that edge : it met 
The sword of Satan, with steep force to smite 
Descending, and in half cut sheer.” 

As in years past Jean and John had sat in 
the library hanging over one book, enraptured 
with the adventures of Robinson Crusoe, so now 
they sat again hour after hour in the library, 
absorbed in the rehearsal of the fortune of that 
Crusoe of the house of Cardiff — who had come 
home after shorter probation. For several days 
nothing else could be thought or talked of. 

Then what Aunt Prudence and Jean had done 
came in question, and the John Cardiff Com- 
fort Hall for lads was described. This brought 
tears to John’s eyes. How unworthy he had 
been of all Jean’s tender love, and valiant faith 
in him ! 

“ I will be worthy of you, Jean, and the best 
helper in your work that ever a sister had. It 
is time I was doing something worth while, if I 
do not want to play the fool over again. Now 
we are eighteen.” 


m 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


Yes, they were eighteen, for John had come 
home on their birthday. 

“We will go down Kelso Street way, and see 
all that has been done,” said John. “ After 
that, if Mr. Moultrie will be my tutor again I ’ll 
study hard three or four hours a day, and spend 
the rest of my time helping you for a couple of 
years. After that, some solid business. I once 
read something like this, ‘ Blessed be the man 
who makes two blades of grass grow, where was 
but one before,’ and I suppose that holds good 
of making increase in any of the useful and 
needed things of this life.” 

“ It is well that one of us is going to know 
something,” said Jean. “ I feel as if I had had 
to grow up desperately ignorant, for two years 
and a half I have scarcely touched a book.” 

But the knowledge of the world does not 
come from printed books. Jean had been mak- 
ing deep studies in human lives and hearts ; she 
had conversed with the educated and carefully 
cultured, and there were few girls fuller of gene- 
ral information, thinking higher thoughts, more 
gracious in presence, and more clear and elegant 
in expressing thoughts than Jean. 

“Jean,” said John anxiously, “are not your 
eyes better? Is this always to be so, my dear?” 

“ The doctor expected them to be all right 
before now,” said Jean ; “ they will be well soon, 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 2ps 

now you have come home. I did not give my 
nerves a fair chance you see ; I was so unhappy 
about you, and I could not tear my thoughts 
from you. I cried, John.” 

“You shall not cry over me any more, dear; 
if I begin to distress you again Jean, I only 
hope some one will do me the favor to chop off 
my head ! I should deserve it.” 

“ John, my misery about you makes me think 
of some talk I had once with Mr. Dysart and Dr. 
Yancy; they were here to tea, and Dr. Yancy 
speaking of you, of our uncertainty about your 
fate, said much of the sorrow in this world sprung 
from ignorance. 1 see it to be so now. If I had 
known how you were improving in mind and 
body; if I had seen you safe on that lovely 
island, being led and taught of God — if I had 
known you were coming home, how satisfied 
I should have been, my John ! Dr. Yancy said 
that ignorance of the true condition of some 
persons had caused their friends and lovers 
great sorrow. Then he called up instances from 
the Bible. Jacob thought that Joseph was dead, 
and he made up his mind to go down unto the 
grave to his son, mourning. Mary Magdalen 
was weeping over a dead Christ, when he had 
reached resurrection glory, and all power was 
given unto him in heaven and in earth. If we 
had faith enough to feel certain that God knows 


2^6 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE, 

all and is doing all for the very best, then we 
should not have our hearts aching with wasted 
sorrow, the sorrow born of ignorance !” 

“You and I have come to know more about 
the Bible, Jean, you by hearing it read to you, 
and talked about with you, and I by being shut 
up to its sole companionship.” 

“Here’s the carriage, Mr. John,” said Rem- 
eck, who made every excuse he could for an 
errand to John, and who could not enough feast 
his eyes on the lad he had known for so many 
years. John’s size, strength, and adventuies 
filled Remeck with joy. 

John and Jean set off toward the Kelso 
Street region, laughing as they went, over Rem- 
eck’s stately announcement of John's little dog- 
cart as a “ carriage.” 

“ Stop a minute, John,” said Jean, making a 
signal to a passing country- wagon. “There’s 
Paul ; I want to speak to him. Oh, Paul, how 
is that little boy I sent out to your mother?” 

“ The one with the rickets, or the one that 
had the fall?” questioned the young country- 
man, with a covert smile. 

“ Oh, yes ; there were two of them. Well, I 
hope your mother did not feel that I was impos- 
ing on her by sending too many. How are they 
both?” 

“They’re doing fine. That one with the 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE, 


2g7 

rickets is nearly well. All he wanted was plenty 
of milk, and scrubbing, and a place to run. He ’s 
the most industrious little chap: he picks up 
chips all day, thinks it ’s fun. My, how I used 
to hate it ! That other one is fatting up fine. 
Sings like a lark. Dad’s so stuck on him I 
reckon he ’ll try and keep him for good. Oh, 
you needn’t be afraid of over-taxing mother 
with the little chaps ; she likes them. I started 
early and took in the last load of our apples to 
Kelso Street. I drove through Fitzig Street 
first, and the folks there looked so miserable 
and haggard, I dealt out most of the apples to 
them, and Kelso Street got precious few.” 

“I’m glad if you did anything to cheer those 
miserable people in the Tubbs block,” said 
Jean ; “it makes me sick to think of them.” 

“ Who ’s that ?” queried John, as they drove 
on. 

“ Paul Bates. His people live on our farm. 
Mrs. Bates has been the kindest about allowing 
me to send out to her feeble women and chil- 
dren to recruit. There is one there all the time, 
I think ; she says it is her only way of doing a 
little work for God. Those apples he spoke of 
are the surplus crop. A number of us per- 
suaded several farmers to send their surplus 
apples, the second best, the windfalls, here to 
the city to the poor, instead of sending them 


2g8 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


to the cider -mills, and it has done so much 
good. The people, especially the women and 
children, needed the apples, but could not buy 
anything that seemed like luxuries. We must 
stop and speak to Rufus Hapgood. Do you re- 
member him? He has improved very much. 
He had a long attack of pneumonia, and Peter 
Gess took care of him. Peter helped Rufus to 
be better. Sometimes I think Rufus must be 
converted, he is so changed. Jerusha Gess tried 
so hard to help Rufus that she improved her- 
self. I am sure nothing but conversion would 
have made her orderly ; and now she is orderly, 
at least, rather so.” 

“ I remember Rufus,” said John, “ I used to 
throw him money.” 

On this occasion John threw no money to 
anyone, but seemed more welcome than when 
he did. He jumped out of the dog-cart, shook 
hands with Rufus, received frankly his con- 
gratulations upon his return, said that some day 
he meant to go down to Comfort Hall and tell 
the lads all about being shipwrecked, with life 
on a desert island, and he hoped Rufus would 
be there. Then he added that he meant to take 
hold and help his aunt and sister in their work, 
and hoped Mr. Hapgood would give him some 
points, for he remembered that he was a keen 
observer.” 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 2gg 

Having thus shown that he was not lacking 
in the tact shared by Miss Prudence and Jean, 
John jumped into the dog-cart and drove on to 
Comfort Hall. 

On the steps he found Sime Ridder. He 
shook hands with Sime. “ I thought of you on 
that rat-infested tub, the ‘ Kitty hawk,’ that I 
came home in,” he said, “ and wished you were 
on board for my sake, but not for your own. 
My aunt tells me you are keeping these houses 
of ours rat-free. What do you think of this 
Comfort Hall that has my name? I want to 
make a real good thing of it ; but I shall make 
plenty of mistakes unless some one who knows 
the lads here will give me a hint or two.” Then 
he and Sime went into the gymnasium-room, 
and John performed a few feats with an iron 
bar so that Sime was filled with admiration. 
John was meeting him not as '‘a swell meets a 
slummy,” but as man meets man, in frank fash- 
ion : he did not toss him money, but spoke to 
him honestly. So John was forgiven and ad- 
mired by Sime, as he had been by Rufus. 
Youth is always very readily forgiven when it 
takes to better courses. All the world seems to 
be watching to welcome the return of youth 
that has come to itself.” 

The next affair was to drive over to see Mrs. 
Lindsay. The Baby’s Milk D^pot had grown. 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE, 


300 

and now occupied a basement front room, ad- 
joining Mrs. Lindsay’s. This place had been 
nicely renovated, and shone with paint, calso- 
mining, and scouring. There were dozens of 
clean bottles, two big refrigerators, a plenty of 
sterilized milk. A rosy, neatly-dressed girl was 
near the window, embroidering a screen in gold 
thread. Two other frames of embroidery, cov- 
ered with tissue paper, stood in a corner. There 
were some pots of plants about, and a certain 
suggestion of a presence that loved pretty things. 
Jean looked through the window, then waved 
her hand to the girl. 

'‘Oh, Bessie! How is your screen coming 
on ?” 

The girl ran to exhibit her work, which was 
exquisite. 

“ I ’ve another ordered,” she said, “ and that 
cushion is done. Shall I bring it out to show 
you?” 

“ Yes, do,” said Jean. So Bessie Lowther ran 
back for her other frames ; but stopped to serve 
out three bottles of milk. Meanwhile John and 
Jean waited in the dog-cart. 

“ That is Bessie Lowther, the girl you and I 
picked up starving on the street and brought 
here,” said Jean. 

“That! I wouldn’t have thought it,” said 
John, “not that I had anything to do with 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 


SOI 


bringing her here, only to growl at you for 
taking the trouble.” 

“ She worried us terribly for a while, because 
we did not understand her,” said Jean ; '' she 
was just hungering and thirsting after beauty 
and what she called ‘gentility.’ Helen Cary 
was the one who helped her: she understood 
her and got into sympathy with her at once. 
She dressed her up, invited her to her home, 
roused her ambition, lent her books — books on 
dress, good manners, conversation, and art nee- 
dlework, mind you. She had her taught em- 
broidery of all kinds, and Bessie took to it in a 
wonderful way. She ’s like a witch with fancy 
work. Miss Cary secured orders for her. As 
she needs a dry, spotless place for such work, 
we put her in here to attend, under Mrs. Lind- 
say’s supervision, to this d^p6t. Bessie is as 
nice and well-behaved a girl as you can find.” 

Now into Mrs. Lindsay’s home: the good 
woman looked with eyes full of tears at the 
re-united brother and sister. “The Lord be 
praised. Miss Jean, that ye hae the desire o’ 
your hairt ! Oh, have na I been wae to see the 
sorror lines aboot your sweet een, an’ your mou’. 
Weel, the Faither o’ a’ has prepared means 
whereby his banished may win’ hame again !” 
Then turning to John she said, “ My hairt leaps 
wi’ joy to see you, sir : not alane for her sak’ 


302 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


whom we a’ luve, but for yer ain. Has na my 
soul blissed you every day, an’ ca’ed doon bless- 
ings upo’ your heid, for that Comfort Ha’ ye 
arranged to save the laddies ! Oh, ye maun be 
ain o’ the Lord’s jewels, to ha’ sic canny thochts 
at your age, an’ sic luve for yer fellow men.” 

John felt ready to disclaim all this unde- 
served praise, to roundly state that the thought 
and the act were all Jean’s; but he considered 
that silence here might be golden, since he did 
not know what Jean had been doing or saying 
in his absence ; he blushed and held his tongue. 

Just then a deep groan echoed across the 
passage-way : Aggie, dropping her work, limped 
into the rag-room. 

“ It ’s Jock — Jock Moore, her faither, an’ my 
brither-in-law,” said Mrs. Lindsay. “ He ’s sick, 
he has been sick for a week, an’ he grows worse. 
He wadna hae a doctor, nor wad he tak’ advice 
to gang to a hospital. True for him, he has 
been verra docile to tak’ all my doctorin’, an’ 
I ’m no’ a bad han’ wi’ the sick. Weel, las’ nicht 
I said, ‘Jock, I ’ll hae a doctor till ye whether 
or no ; for ye are a sick mon in my opeenion. 
Weel, wad ye believe it, I had to lay my han’ 
on the Bible, a’ the same as if I was takin’ aith 
in coort, that I wadna send him to hospital 
whatever the doctor said. An’ then he let me 
send. Puir mon ! I ’m thinkin’ he ’s off his 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 


303 


heid. There he lies, in yon rag-room, on a box- 
bed, an’ he will no be moved. Noo the best I 
can do I canna keep the air o’ that rag-room fit 
for a sick mon to breathe, forebye he ’ll no hae 
ony windows open at nicht. Oh, Jock is power- 
fu’ contrairy an’ upsetting ; I ’d no say it gif it 
waur not sae.” 

Here Aggie came back. “ Father wants to 
see the young gentleman all alone,” she said. 

John hesitated ; he had not been afraid of a 
free fight with the sailors of the Kittyhawk, but 
he was afraid of this sick man ! Was he intend- 
ing to demand of his inexperience spiritual or 
worldly advice? However, Jean and the Lind- 
says seemed to expect him to go as requested ; 
so he gathered courage and went in. 

Jock Moore lay on the box-bed: he and the 
bed, the floor and the window were clean ; two 
sides of the room were piled to the ceiling with 
sorted rags; several gunny sacks, barrels and 
bales of rags, unsorted, stood between the win- 
dows. Jock’s eyes were wild, and he burned 
with fever. Looking fixedly at John he asked, 

'' Do you think I am going to die ?” 

I ’m sure — I do n’t know if you are,” stam- 
mered John. 

Well, I won’t ; mind that, young man, I 

f * ff 

won t. 

You ’d be less likely to,” said John, if you 


304 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


had less rags and more air. The window should 
be open.” 

‘‘ I won’t have the window open, and folks 
coming in to steal. Did you ever hear of burg- 
lary and sand-bagging ? What harm is in rags ? 
Most rag-peddler’s families sleep on the rags 
and have no other beds. Say, young sir, will 
you do me a favor ?” 

“ Certainly, if I can ; anything I can give you, 
or do.” 

I won’t die ; but it ’s no harm to have things 
fixed right. If I give you a letter, sealed up, 
will you swear not to lose it, nor to open it, nor 
to let any one else see it, till I ’m dead ? When 
I am dead — only, mind you, I won’t die — give it 
to Janey.” 

‘‘Oh, certainly,” said John, much relieved. 

“ Here, lay your hand on the book — Aggie’s 
book — and swear.” 

John thought this was sheer insanity, but 
humored him. 

“ Say, now, on yon shelf there ’s a pencil and 
a sheet of paper. I found them in the rags. Go 
ask Janey for an envelope ; she has a young 
farmer-lad she writes to ; she ’s got envelopes. 
Give me the paper and pencil while you go to 
Janey.” 

John was obedient. Jock raised himself on 
his elbow and began to labor at some writing. 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 


SOS 


while John went for the envelope. When he 
returned, Jock put his written paper in the en- 
velope, sealed it close, looked suspiciously at 
John, fell back as one spent with labor, and said, 
** Write on it, * Not to be opened till Jock Moore 
is dead.’ Write it on both sides. Might add 
that I won't die, but never mind. There, go 
along. Take it home with you. Mind you do n’t 
tell ’em out there. As for the rags, the boys will 
cart away all the sorted ones to-day. Mind what 
you promised ! It ’s little enough for a rich swell 
like you to do for a poor man like me. Why 
was n’t I rich, an’ you poor, I say, blame you !” 

He ’s raving crazy, and you should look 
after him well,” reported John to Mrs. Lindsay. 
However, crazy or not, John kept his trust 
sacredly, and put the envelope carefully in an 
inside pocket to take home. 

‘‘ How strange and terrible much of this is to 
me, Jean,” said John as they drove homeward. 

How much is to be done ! Now that I ’ve my 
eyes open, I wonder every person of leisure, or 
money, or any kind of talent, is not doing some 
work to lessen the great burden of sorrow, crime, 
and poverty.” 

Sometimes I think,” said Jean, that if our 
Lord were back on earth, he would be working 
in such places as this all the time. I often think 
of the lines, 

20 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


306 

“ And so the Word had breath, and taught 
With human hands the creed of creeds : 

In lowliness of perfect deeds 
More strong than all poetic thought.” 

Yes,” said John, “ in this work I am sure 
one follows Christ, and can ask in each case of 
need, what He would do.” 

“ Dr. Yancy says,” said Jean, “ that God never 
gave a man a thing to do, concerning which it 
was not right to ponder how the Son of God 
himself would have done it. Turn up here, 
John ; I want you to drive through Fitzig 
Street. That is our great trouble now ; the sink 
of corruption for this neighborhood ; the source 
of disease and crime — the cruel Bastile of in- 
iquity, right here among us. We have tried all 
ways we could think of to better or abolish 
it.” 

“Complain of it as a nuisance,” said John, 
when they had driven through Fitzig Street, 
past Mr. Tubbs' houses. 

“We have — fruitlessly. Mr. Tubbs is rich, 
and he is angry at our methods, and says he 
will fight it out to his last dollar. He is able to 
keep his case out of court.” 

“ Can’t you form a syndicate of benevolent 
folks, who will be willing to invest money that 
for some years will bring only about three per 
cent, to them ; and then buy these houses at 


THE FALL OF THE BAS TILE. 307 

a thumping big price — twice what they ’re 
worth ?” 

‘‘ He has been offered a large price, far be- 
yond their worth. The thing is so bad that we 
have enlisted a number of rich people willing to 
join in a crusade against it ; but Mr. Tubbs says 
he would n’t sell for a million. It really seems 
as if Satan possessed the man, he is so angry at 
our work among the poor : so offended because 
we are building a chapel. His own tenants are 
sullen and hate him and his agent; they are 
angry because they have so many less comforts 
than the people in our blocks. We could have 
had good asphalt pavements around Kelso Street 
long ago, if it had not been for the fight Mr. 
Tubbs made against repaving. Disease spreads 
from that Black Maria ; its tenants prevent our 
having as good tenants as we otherwise might, 
and of a class we are anxious to help. Women 
and girls are afraid to come and live near Fitzig 
Street, on account of the ruffians they meet who 
live in Mr. Tubbs’ houses. Yet we want very 
much to nearly fill one of our houses with work- 
ing women, widows and single women ; we wish 
to abolish the sweaters and middlemen, and 
have the women deal directly with the whole- 
sale houses for which they work. That could 
be done, if we provided a few machines on easy 
terms, and became security for the work. Aunt 


3o8 the CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

and Mrs. Carl Jennings are willing to take that 
responsibility. It is no risk ; these women are 
remarkably fair and honest in their dealings; 
they like to show themselves worthy of being 
trusted. We have about half-a-dozen in the 
New Rents that are working in that way 
now.'’ 

“Jean!” cried John, “how much good you 
are all doing ; how much good you have done 
while I have been wasting myself and all that I 
have. How womanly and thoughtful and wise 
all this work has made you ! You seem to have 
a grasp of great questions that I know noth- 
ing about. You must show me how to help, 
Jean.” 

This no doubt made Jean greatly happy — it 
even took the sting out of that battle, that ever- 
losing battle they were fighting down in Fitzig 
Street with Mr. Tubbs. It was a bitter thing to 
know of hardship and cruelty, to see bodies and 
souls of men, women and children destroyed by 
the curse of a man’s greed. First one way then 
another was tried ; the law and the gospel were 
alike invoked fruitlessly. Mid- winter came, and 
still the fight surged around that Bastile of 
wrong. It was a sore battle, sore as was fought 
“in Taanach by the waters of Megiddo.” 

Jean wondered if Mrs. Lindsay, Mrs. Martin, 
Peter Gess and others were praying as they had 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 


309 


prayed against the Gridley house iniquity. Yes, 
they were praying, but the answer was delayed : 
the vision tarried. It needed the sword of 
Michael to force a way into that Bastile, to open 
its gates, and level its walls, and still that potent 
sword abode in heaven. 

“ How can a man be so cruel just for money !” 
cried Jean. 

*‘Just for money!” said John; “love of 
money is one of the strongest passions, Jean — a 
ruling passion, perhaps the ruling passion among 
men. What was I reading to you about Balaam 
yesterday? The riches offered by the king 
were more potent than the known voice of God. 
This morning Aunt Prudence handed me this 
about Balaam : 

“ In outline dim and vast 
Their fearful shadows cast 

The giant forms of empires, on their way 
To ruin ; one by one 
They tower and are gone, 

Yet in the prophet's soul the dreams of avarice stay. 

“ No star or sun so bright 
In all the worlds of light. 

That they could draw to heaven his downcast eye : 

He hears the Almighty’s word. 

He sees the angel’s sword. 

Yet low upon the ground his heart and treasures lie I” 

“There seems to be more than avarice in 
this stand Mr. Tubbs is taking,” said Jean 
thoughtfully. 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


JIO 

“ Think so ?” said John keenly. “Now I 
think avarice lies at the root of the whole mat- 
ter ; he is infuriated because Christian precept 
and action disallow his grasping to his neigh- 
bor’s hurt. I verily believe I ’ve got to the bot- 
tom of what is meant by * the love of money is 
the root of all evil.’ ” 

All that winter this question of the Tubbs 
block on Fitzig Street was in debate ; on the one 
side Mr. Tubbs and his agent multiplied extor- 
tions and wrongs against health and decency; 
on the other hand the philanthropists who had 
in hand that part of the city vainly tried every 
method to bring Mr. Tubbs to order, or to elim- 
inate him from the social equation of Fitzig 
Street by buying his property. John Cardiff was 
one of the most zealous opposers of Mr. Tubbs. 
This conflict suited that knight errantry that lies 
in all ardent youth. Jean rejoiced over John. 
“ Isn’t it wonderful !” she said to her aunt Pru- 
dence. 

“ John has learned sympathy by suffering. 
It is a very highly-tempered, pure nature that 
can sympathize heartily without previous expe- 
riences of its own. John has known what it is 
to hunger, to be day after day on a minimum 
allowance of food ; he has known what it is to 
lie down in darkness, apprehensive of the night, 
danger-filled ; he has lived days of horror in that 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 311 

floating pandemonium the Kittyhawk; his fel- 
lows have grown dear to him in the months he 
was bereaved of human presence. God has led 
him by a way we all know not. This is nothing 
peculiar, dear Jean, to John’s case. We are told 
that ‘ We have not a High-priest who cannot be 
touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but 
was in all points tempted like as we are, yet 
without sin and also, ‘ For in that he himself 
suffered being tempted, he is able to succor 
them that are tempted.’ ” 

The winter wore away slowly, no doubt, for 
those whose hardships were great, slowly also 
for those who waited in disappointment; then 
the fiery sword of Michael fell. The alarm of 
fire rang over the city, the sirens shrieked, en- 
gine and hook - and - ladder companies dashed 
along the streets. Those who rose in the weal- 
thy and quiet parts of the city reported of the 
fire that the sky was fiercely red far away over 
“ the places where nobody lives.” Others said, 
“Some of those crowded slums must be burn- 
ing; pity they are not all burned out.” Mr. 
Tubbs himself caught echoes of the clamor and 
looked forth to see which way the conflagration 
showed, and concluded it was too far east for 
anything that he owned to be injured, but 
“ hoped those Cardiff houses would catch it be- 
fore it was through with ;” then he went to bed 


312 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


again. His agent did not rise ; he was not hired 
to watch by night as well as prey all day. None 
of the Cardiffs heard the alarm ; they lived far- 
ther off and were sleeping the sleep of the just. 
Jean had no wakeful nights now that John had 
come home. Down by Fitzig and Kelso Streets 
there was no sleeping. The firemen were he- 
roic, or the whole quarter would have been swept 
by the flames. The tenants of the “ Black Ma- 
ria ” block scrambled out as best they could, with 
or without their little all ; they dimly realized 
that this night’s work would leave them with no 
arrears of rent to pay. They were sullen, stood 
looking on with some light of gratified revenge 
in their bleared, weary eyes. “ Old Tubbs is 
catching it! Old kite, he’s lived off us long 
enough !” They were sulky and full of malice — 
their landlord’s enemies ; they had no homes to 
fight for ; a change for them could not be for the 
worse ; they cared less for these wretched lodg- 
ings than the wild beast for his lair. 

The Cardiff houses were in danger ; they 
were so dry and well ventilated they made bet- 
ter fuel than the “ Black Maria.” If that Tubbs 
block fire had not started in a grog-shop, where 
whiskey barrels promptly gave zest to the flames, 
it might not have burned out. But from the 
grog-shop in the basement it communicated to 
another basement where fuel and kerosene oil 


THE FALL OF THE BASTILE. 313 

were sold, the oil being in a surreptitious bar- 
rel concealed under a stairway. The stairway 
ignited by the bursting oil barrel ; the fire roared 
up to the roof, and the roof was dry, so were the 
adjacent roofs ; thus the fire raged on. All the 
Cardiff tenants were out in force, anxious about 
their buildings. They had homes to fight for; 
they had friends in their landlords ; now was 
the time to show gratitude. These people were 
neither drunk nor sullen ; their quality had im- 
proved with their abodes ; they were on the up 
grade ; they had plenty of water in their houses ; 
hydrants were numerous ; out came the floods ; 
men, women, and children swarmed over the 
roofs; water was carried in vessels large and 
small ; then, when an extra engine or two came 
to aid their efforts, the safety of Cardiff Rents, 
old and new, was secured, while the fire made 
short work of the Tubbs block. That was swept 
out to empty walls, thin walls, which soon reeled 
and fell with a crash. 

One or two firemen badly hurt ; one or two 
horses killed ; this was part of the record. Three 
men of the Tubbs tenants, men usually drunk 
at night, disappeared; a sick woman who had 
lain unconscious for a week was burned in her 
bed; an old woman and three children in an 
attic were burned ; several were killed or badly 
hurt by jumping from upper windows. Such 


314 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


was the full story of the night’s work, and in the 
May morning slumdom had opened into it a 
great breathing place, covered with fallen bricks 
and hot ashes, but a breathing place still, so that 
fresh air rushed into houses that for years had 
had no whiff of it; sunlight laughed into win- 
dows that no sun had ever before entered. 

The city woke up, rubbed its eyes, yawned, 
read its morning paper, and understood that 
twenty - six hundred people were homeless. 
These people had lived in a block where there 
were no fire-escapes, where “box houses” were 
built in the rear courts, where there were only 
ladder staircases, only one hydrant — often out of 
order — for the entire congeries of inner tene- 
ments ; the only means of egress to the streets 
from such cul-de-sac being a four-feet wide alley, 
down which, uncovered and slime-filled, ran the 
only sewer of the place. 

“ Why will people live in such places !” cried 
Miss Innocence. 

“ I should think they would be glad to be 
burned out,” said her sister, “ unless they like 
such things.” 

John Cardiff had heard the newsboy’s cry, 
“ Great fire ! Fitzig Street ! Black Maria burned. 
People killed — ” He stood reading the paper 
aloud to the family seated at the breakfast table, 
but all too engrossed in the news to eat. Then 


THE FALL OF THE BAST/LF. 313 

his eye ran along the column ; he dropped the 
paper and shouted, Uninsured !” 

By some oversight, insurance on the Black 
Maria block had lapsed for a week. It was the 
one hope of help, and they were glad. Now 
when Gideon, listening near a Midianitish tent, 
heard the assurance of victory, he did not rush 
back to his host and marshall their array until^ 
he worshipped. Having thanked God, he took 
renewed courage and cried unto his three hun- 
dred, Arise !” So Miss Prudence Cardiff first 
worshipped, giving thanks unto God who had 
made the redemption of this forlorn part of the 
city possible. Then carriages and street cars 
and telephone wires were put in requisition to 
summon all those who were likely to form a 
syndicate to buy the devastated land from Mr. 
Tubbs, who would now be forced to sell the land 
to pay the mortgage laid on the last building. 
Tubbs property and Tubbs methods were at a 
discount that spring morning, that wide swathe 
mown by the fire had laid bare so many enor- 
mities. 

John Cardiff was indefatigable in reading to 
Jean ; every morning he read certain chapters 
in the Bible to her, her aunt reading the Scrip- 
tures with her at night. After the Bible John 
read his daily lessons to Jean several times over, 
until both learned them. That morning John 


3i6 the CARDIFF ESTA TE, 

went into the library and to Jean laughing, the 
Bible open in his hand. “ Jean, is n’t this pat to 
this morning’s affairs : ‘ Behold, my servants 
shall sing for joy of heart ; but ye shall cry for 
sorrow of heart, and shall howl for vexation of 
spirit ’ ?” 


THE HAND UPON THE HELM, 


3^7 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE HAND UPON THE HELM. 

“ I leave it to a higher will, 

To stay or speed me, trusting still 

That all is right, and sure that He 
Who launched my bark will sail with me.” 

Here were hundreds of people to be housed : 
hundreds who had not a bed to lie upon, a dish 
to eat from, food to eat or raiment to put on. 
They were people to whom homes had so long 
been wanting that they had lost the choicest 
qualities of humanity, for home is indispensable 
to the human being. Mr. Tubbs and his agent 
raged before whatever small audiences they had, 
asserting that they were all wretches, unworthy 
of any better treatment than they had received, 
that they were thieves, pickpockets, sandbag- 
gars, drunkards, assassins. Mr. Tubbs fairly 
foamed and tore his hair asserting the iniquities 
of these breakers of all laws human and divine. 
There were some who heard him however, who 
took the common-sense view that all the same 
these people were rent-payers, and when they 
paid for rooms they should not be thrust into 
dens and caves of the earth ; also perhaps the 
treatment received was cause of the degradation 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


of morals : a man is very largely moulded by his 
surroundings. How can one be clean having 
neither water nor soap ? 

The first affair was to house these roofless 
people late of the Black Maria. Not only shel- 
ters but some little household goods must be 
found for them, for when people possessing the 
comforts of life summed the matter up they 
found much to be necessary and indispensable 
to living which Mr. Tubbs’ tenants had never 
owned. Thus beds, tables, chairs, crockery, 
clothes, bedding flowed in upon the fire suffer- 
ers until they might rather be termed the fire- 
gainers. The mayor of the city headed the Re- 
lief Committee, and for a week or two carriages 
and well-dressed people thronged “the streets 
where nobody lived,” charity was the fad of the 
hour. Miss Prudence Cardiff and her particular 
clique of helpers busied themselves in finding 
rooms and putting them in proper sanitary con- 
dition ; there was much cleaning out of drains, 
lavishing of carbolic soap and paint and lime, 
much making immoveable windows moveable, 
much improving of plumbing, wherever Miss 
Prudence led the advance. Two additional 
nurses, and two Bible women additional, who 
were general friends, helpers and advisers, were 
set at work, several wealthy women who “had 
never known such work was needed becom- 


THE HAND UPON THE HELM. jig 

ing willingly responsible for salaries and a little 
money for general outlay. 

Mr. Moultrie often laughed at the excite- 
ment of John and Jean in those days, and their 
large enthusiastic, frequently unreasonable plans. 
John, as having less experence than Jean, did 
more reckless planning. 

“See here, children,” said Mrs. Moultrie, 
having listened to them for nearly an hour, as 
they sat in the twilight planning what should 
be done when the new block should be rebuilt, 
“ let me tell you that in war and in politics noth- 
ing is more needed than tact ; tact is also greatly 
needed in philanthropy. In war and in poli- 
tics there are ardent spirits which cannot com- 
prehend marches and countermarches, ambus- 
cades and firing in flight; they demand pitched 
battles at all times. 

“ Such people make excellent soldiers and 
very bad captains. The finest generals have been 
those who knew how to administer a defeat and 
snatch victory out of the jaws of ruin. A wise 
general does not deliver battle but upon some 
vantage ground ; when he is possessed of that 
he manoeuvres to provoke and draw forth his 
enemy. So in politics what is important is not 
the battle but the victory. In philanthropy we 
cannot expect to rush straight on, overturning 
with a dash old customs even though they may 


320 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


be bad customs. We cannot compel assent to 
our views, we must educate up to assent. All 
people will not see with our eyes ; there are many 
animals, both human and brute, which will go 
further and faster led than driven. We must not 
forget that the people we are trying to help are 
people, and as such have their tastes and pref- 
erences and little whims and independencies, 
and no doubt they are the better for having 
them. We would rather that they climbed up 
than were carried up.” 

Mr. Moultrie was fond of such discussions as 
this; discussions that often turned into mono- 
logues. He might have said more at this time — 
although it appears that on this theme he had 
said enough — but Remecke appeared. “ Mr. 
John, there ’s a man wants to see you.” 

“ It was that Jock Moore,” said John when 
he returned. “The man looks like a ghost 
rather than a man, he is so bent, white and 
withered. I asked him if he would not like to 
go to our farm and rest in the country for a few 
weeks and take care of his health. But no, he 
would not.” 

“ He ’s dying of Bright’s disease ; nothing 
would help him,” said Mr. Moultrie. “ I ’ve seen 
him pretty often since he was sick last fall, but 
he seems hard to do any thing for himself in 
any way.” 


THE HAND UPON THE HELM, 321 

When he was sick last November he gave 
me this letter,” said John, taking the cheap 
doubly superscribed envelope from his pocket. 
You see it is not to be opened while he lives. 
One stormy night about New-Year’s he came 
here asking for me. When I went to see what 
I could do for him he said, “ Nothing ; have 
you that letter, sir ?” I said, ' Oh, yes ; it is safe- 
ly locked in my desk. Do you want it ?’ He 
said, ‘ No, that is all.’ It was just after dinner, 
and I made him sit down by a register and have 
a cup of hot coffee. One night in March he ap- 
peared again with the same question. When I 
asked him if he wanted the letter he said ^ yes,’ 
so I brought it to him. He looked at it very 
closely on both sides, eyed me suspiciously, then 
seemed to be convinced that it had not been tam- 
pered with, and told me he wished I ’d keep it 
a while longer. When he comes he always 
calls my attention to the fact that he said he 
wouldn’t die and didn’t. But he looked like 
dying to-night, I can tell you.” 

“There is something on his mind that oc- 
cupies all his thoughts; he cannot take any 
looks into eternity, his horizon is so much 
nearer. It is like hiding the sun with a dinner 
plate. ‘These be thy gods, oh, Israel,’” said 
Mr. Moultrie. 

A week or so later Jean and John had stop- 
21 


322 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


ped at the kindergarten. They were planning 
to give the little ones, their teachers, mothers, 
and the Lark family, an outing. Omnibusses 
were to be sent to take them all out to the 
Park for a day. Starting at eight in the morn- 
ing : plenty of good plain luncheon was to be 
sent out to them. As Jean was detailing the 
plan tp the teacher and Miss Lark, Aggie 
Lindsay came hobbling in. “ Oh, Miss, are 
you here ? I was to leave word for you if you 
came. Father is mortal sick. The doctor says 
he can’t last long. He is asking for the young 
gentleman, for Mr. Cardiff.” 

“We will come around there in a few min- 
utes,” said Jean. 

When they reached Mr. Lindsays they found 
that Jock Moore had been very ill for three days. 
Mrs. Lindsay had taken the law into her own 
hands, sent away to the dealers all the sorted 
rags, and the unsorted ones were in the lower 
end of the hall, Alex, Jamie, Janey and Agnes 
all busily sorting them. There was the odor of 
dust, closeness, a pervasive poverty flavor that 
tasted in one’s mouth persistently. 

“ Puir mon ! He ’s still wild aboot the bit 
rags,” said Mrs. Lindsay. “ There wad be no 
peace until I tellt him a’ the childer should sort 
’em doon at aince. They ’ve been at it, sin’ 
yesterday early, an’ sin’ Jamie has hauled off a 


THE HAND UPON THE HELM. 


323 

load. Weel, they 're maist dune noo, an’ gif 
I 'm no mistaken it ’s the last o’ rag-sortin for 
us a’.” 

She led John into the rag-room. It was 
clean and the windows were open. Jock Moore 
lay on the box-bed, still in the same place as 
before. He seemed asleep or in a state of 
coma. John bent over him. “ Did you want 
to see me ?” 

Jock opened dull eyes. “ Oh, yes,” he said, 
recollecting himself. “ Yes ; have you the letter 
safe?” 

Yes, indeed. Do you want it ?” 

‘*No, keep it. You see I’m not dead yet,” 
but this time he did not add, “ you see I wont 
die either.” The fight on his . part was nearly 
done, the arms of his resistance were falling 
from his nerveless hands. Jamie came in. “Fa- 
ther, we are done ; the very last rag is sorted. 
We did it all carefully.” 

“What did you find, Jamie?” asked Jock 
feverishly. 

“ Nothing,” said Jamie nonchalantly. 

“Nothing?” said Jock querulously. “I’ve 
been searching for twenty years ! I read about 
the great finds in waste rags, money, bonds, 
papers that were wanted and big rewards given 
for. ' Nothing!’ after twenty years’ search, only 
a ring, and a gold pencil, and perhaps thirty or 


334 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


forty dollars in money. ‘Nothing! Twenty 
years and disappointed.” He turned his face to 
the wall. 

“ Puir mon, he ’s oot o’ his heid,” sighed Mrs. 
Lindsay. 

John sighed too; sighed because the man 
was not out of his head, but had in few words 
told the story of a long bootless search — summed 
up his life, “ Nothing — and disappointed.” 

As he and Jean stepped into their favorite 
little dog-cart to drive home, Jamie Moore 
brought up his father’s cart and old horse, and 
he with Alex began loading the last of the rub- 
bish in which his father had traded. The next 
day Mr. Moultrie brought word that Jock Moore 
was dead, he had not spoken since he turned his 
face to the wall, the bitter word “ disappointed ” 
slipping like gall over his lips. A day or two 
later John said to Jean, “ Come with me to Mrs. 
Lindsay’s. Jock Moore’s letter must be given 
to Janey, his daughter, he wanted her to open 
it. We ’ll go about noon when they ’ll all be 
there.” 

The Lindsay family were at dinner. Jamie 
had been out making a sale of the horse and 
wagon to a truck dealer : Alex was in from his 
work at a small grocery. Janey had her sleeves 
rolled down and a dry apron on. There were 
no more “ found ” garments for her to wash, the 


THE HAND UPON THE HELM. 


325 


rag-trade was done. She and Mrs. Lindsay had 
scoured out the last rag-room, taken down the 
box -bed, the room stood empty, swept and gar- 
nished ; so did the hall ; there was no longer the 
close greasy taste of old rags in the air. 

“What are you going to do now?” asked 
Jean. 

“We don’t know juist yet, we canna tell,” 
said Mrs. Lindsay. 

John handed Janey the letter. — “ Your father 
asked me to give you that — after he was gone.” 

At this message from the dead tears came 
into Janey ’s eyes. By this time John Cardiff 
had become greatly curious to know what was 
in this letter, and whether Jock Moore’s singular 
anxiety had really been about a matter of im- 
portance. However neither John nor any of his 
family were of that manner of philanthropists 
who feel at liberty to intrude upon the poor, and 
simply because they are poor trespass upon what 
little privacy is left to them. He had no more 
right, he thought, to exhibit curiosity in his poor 
neighbor’s house than in his rich neighbor’s ; so 
having delivered the envelope to Janey, he pro- 
ceeded to withdraw — though truth compels us to 
admit that he went somewhat slowly. 

Mrs. Lindsay called to him, Mr. Cardiff, bide 
a wee ! We may be needing a word from you, 
whatever this is, for puir Jock was ever a queer 


S 26 the CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

body ! Read your letter, Janey lass, an’ if it is 
what the lave o’ us may hear read it oot.” 

Janey broke the carefully sealed document 
open, she read, read again, then read aloud, 

“ Look ill the floor under my bed and you ’ll 
find some money. Don’t be fools and waste it. 
Share even, you four, and your Aunt Lindsay 
and Alec. jock moore.” 

This Janey read, and read again aloud. 

Whatever does it mean, Mr. Cardiff ?” said Mrs. 
Lindsay ; was the man clear dementit ?” 

It means, plainly enough,” said John, ‘‘ that 
Mr. Moore, who was industrious and saving, has 
laid up a little money which he wants divided 
evenly between the six of you.” 

“ Surely that ’s right,” said Janey. “ Aunt 
has done for us all.” 

“ I would n’t wonder,” cried Jamie, “ if it was 
as much as fifty or eighty dollars. Dad was 
always so saving.” 

“ Aye ; more like a hunder an’ fifty ; Jock 
was ever a near body,” said Mrs. Lindsay. 

At mention of such wealth as a hundred and 
fifty dollars the family sat open-mouthed. 

“ How much would that be apiece ?” de- 
manded Alec. 

“ See here,” cried Aggie, “ there ’s no money 
at all. We have taken the box-bed down and 
cleaned the room ; there was not a cent.” 


THE HAND UPON THE HELM. 327 

Sure enough ! He was daft, puir body,” 
said her aunt. 

Let us go in there and look,” suggested 
John. I think he means the money is in the 
floor, and we need to take up one of the floor- 
ing boards to find it.” Whereat all the family 
trooped into the rag-room. 

“ Here is where the box-bed stood, just here,” 
said Jamie. 

''And here,” said John Cardiff stooping 
down, "is a piece of flooring board that has 
been cut to come out, and has been out too. 
Have you a strong jack-knife, Alex ?” 

The knife was produced and John pried up 
the piece of board. There were two narrow tin 
boxes carefully wired. John handed them to 
Janey. " There is nothing else,” he said, and all 
looked into the wonderful hole to reassure them- 
selves. 

" Coom into the ither room,” said Mrs. Lind- 
say, "and let us see what there is. Are the 
boxes heavy, Janey ?” 

" One is,” said Janey. 

" Coom, Mr. Cardiff, you ’ll count it oot to us ; 
we all sittin’ ben, aboot the table. Puir Jock, 
to think o’ him sparin’ an’ savin’ to lea’ a giftie 
aifter he ’s died an’ gone ! Lassies, clear aff the 
table, sae Mister Cardiff can sit doon by it.” 

The table was cleared, and Jamie unfastened 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE, 


328 

the wire about the boxes. John lifted off one 
lid, then promptly laid it back. “ Mrs. Lindsay, 
perhaps it will be well for you to draw down 
the curtains at the front windows, and lock the 
door.” 

These suggestions were obeyed, but pro- 
duced a great solemnity in the family. Jean 
had stood silent, watching all these proceedings ; 
now she was inclined to laugh, to see John’s 
preternatural dignity at being suddenly made 
administrator to the effects of Jock Moore, de- 
ceased. Privacy being assured, John uncovered 
both boxes. The smaller one was full of little 
rolls, in tough paper ; the larger one was packed 
with bills. 

Jock Moore had certainly not saved and toiled 
for the sake of the duty and pleasure of laying 
up money for his family. They were ready to 
give him the credit of it, for it is easy to think 
well of the dead. The one pleasure of Jock’s 
life, for many years, had been the hoarding and 
counting of this money. Once or twice he had 
invested and had made money by so doing ; but 
the agonies he had suffered fearing that he might 
lose and not gain, his terror of being known as 
a “ moneyed man ” and robbed, the loss of the 
dear delight of seeing and fingering his accumu- 
lations, had deterred him from further ventures. 
He preferred to leave the women to support the 


THE HAND UPON THE HELM. 


329 


family, while he worked and hoarded, his rag- 
trade being more lucrative than the family knew, 
and ever before him hung the splendid hope like 
a crown gleaming low in his sky — the hope of 
finding a fortune in his rags. 

John Cardiff proceeded to count the money, 
the heirs of the rag-trader watching with bated 
breath. “Jean, come look over with me, and 
check for me,” said John. 

The bills were counted. The little rolls were 
opened, found to contain five dollar gold pieces, 
and these were counted. 

“ I make it an even five thousand dollars !” 
said John. 

“ Yes,” said Jean, showing her tablets. 

The family turned pale and their mouths hung 
open. 

“ Now, boys,” said John briskly, “let us see 
what you make it. Let your sister Janey take 
paper and pencil, and set down what you call 
off. Count a hundred, and lay it out, and she 
will note it on paper.” This was longer labor, 
for the boys trembled and miscounted, and for- 
got, but at last they reached the five thousand. 
“ Now, Mrs. Lindsay, you and Aggie go over it, 
and I ’ll check,” said John. 

By this time the inheritors were becoming 
accustomed to the thought of wealth, and the 
counting was more prompt. 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


SJO 

“ This money must not stay here,” said John 
firmly. “ In an hour the bank will be closed. 
Let one of you come in the cart with me, and see 
it deposited.” 

“ You go, Alex,” said Jamie. 

“ Rin mak yer’sel tidy,” commanded his mo- 
ther. 

Don’t be long about it,” said John Cardiff. 
“ Jean, will you go to the kindergarten and wait 
until I come for you ?” 

“ I say, Janey,” bawled Jamie, “now you can 
marry Nate Bliss, and buy that farm together!” 
Janey blushed furiously, and looked sidewise 
toward John, hoping he had not heard the dread- 
ful words. Jamie was remorseless. He cried, 
“ Mr. Cardiff, how much can we have apiece?” 

“About eight hundred and thirty dollars,” 
said John, making a hasty calculation. 

“ Whew !” shouted Jamie. “ I say, Jen, that 
market-garden farm Nate Bliss wants costs two 
thousand five hundred. He says he’s laid up 
five hundred. If you put in yours, and Aunt 
Lindsay will go in with you, you ’ll be able to 
pay two thousand, and buy a hundred and sixty 
dollars’ worth of tools, and seeds, and have only 
five hundred to borrow, and maybe you can bor- 
row Allie’s money.” 

Jamie was working away with a pencil on 
the back of his father’s letter, while Janey was 


THE HAND UPON THE HELM. 331 

pulling his sleeve and imploring him to “ hush,” 
and Jean and John looked steadily into the street, 
the window through its grove of small wares, 
affording them intermittent views of bare feet, 
children’s legs, and draggled gowns of women, 
or big broken brogans of men, travelling by. 

Alex appeared, the money had been re- 
packed by Aggie and Mrs. Lindsay, the boxes 
well wired up. John warned Alex to be careful 
of his trust ; the two climbed into the dog-cart 
and drove rapidly away. 

Jamie,” said Janey, tears in her eyes, 
“ could n’t you be quiet before folks ? To go 
talking like that before Mr. Cardiff! Why 
did n’t you hush when I bade you ?” 

“What harm have I done?” demanded Ja- 
mie. “Miss Cardiff, is it any wrong? Nate 
Bliss is a nice fellow, works on a market-garden 
farm out where our sister Allie lives. He likes 
Janey and Janey likes him, and they mean to 
be married when they can get a place ; and now 
they can get the place, for I ’ve told ’em how. 
What harm is it to do it, or to say it. Miss Car 
diff?” 

“ None,” said Jean promptly, while Janey put 
her apron over her head and sat silent and con- 
cealed in its recesses. Jamie, the planner, went 
on : “ Aunt Lindsay and Aggie just long for the 
country ; and aunt knows all about hens, ducks. 


THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 


332 

bees, and raising garden stuff. Aunt and Nate 
and Alec could do the garden and farm work, 
and Janey could keep the house, and Aggie do 
the sewing.” 

A protesting groan came from Janey at being 
thus openly planned for. 

“What would you do, Jamie,” asked Jean; 
“ go in the country too ?” 

“ No, no, miss. I hate the country ! Give 
me noise and wheels and sidewalks. I ’m going 
to be a machinist ; I always wanted to. They 
say it ’s hard to get into the shops ; but now I ’ve 
no one to take care of, now I Ve got some money, 
why I ’m hound to get into a machine-shop and 
learn to be a machinist, a tip-topper. Oh, I Ve 
laid awake nights planning how I 'd get into a 
machine-shop ; and Alec, he 's laid planning how 
he could get into the country and own a cow and 
a pair of oxen.” 

“ All folks have their ambitions,” thought 
Jean, “ and here these lads have theirs, and at 
night built their air castles instead of sleeping.” 
How good it was to think that their moderate 
wishes could be met ! Here Aggie broke in a 
little spitefully, to pay her brother out for tell- 
ing Janey ’s secrets : 

“ Oh, yes, you Jamie, you ’ll learn to be a 
machinist, and you 11 earn big wages, and you 11 
save your fortune, and you 11 get to be a man, 


THE HAND UPON THE HELM, 


333 


and you ’ll marry Amy Lark. I know what you 
mean.” 

Jamie was dumb and turned red to the roots 
of his hair. Then he broke forth: “So I will. 
I like a girl that can laugh and be cheerful, no 
matter what ’s up. But I ’ll not live down here, 
I can tell you. I ’ll have a little clean house, a 
whole house, painted white, out on the edge of 
town, a home with a picket fence round it.” 

“Another case of ‘Sally who lived in our 
alley,’ ” thought Jean, smiling, and then she 
heard a subdued titter from Janey’s bower of 
pink calico. She went to her and pulled down 
the apron. Janey was between tears and laugh- 
ter. 

“Why not?” said Jean. “Jamie will be a 
good man, and Amy Lark will be a good woman, 
and aunt says that God is a God of the families 
of Israel. He made homes to begin with. I ’m 
glad you like some one, Janey, some one that 
will be good to you, and take you out to live in 
the country. I am glad you wont have to live 
longer in this basement, washing six days in the 
week. God himself has set open a door for you 
to go out into a larger place. When you are set- 
tled in a home in the country I shall come out 
and call upon you — and I shall give you a wed- 
ding present too, Janey.” 

Then they all began to talk and plan, so that 


334 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


it happened that John Cardiff did not find his 
sister at the kindergarten, but returning from 
the bank, drove to Mrs. Lindsay’s for her. Jean 
took her place beside John, Mrs. Lindsay, Janey 
and Aggie standing a beaming group at the 
head of the basement steps to see them off. John 
courteously lifted his hat as they drove away. 

“You would not have done that once, John,” 
said Jean, looking at her brother with shining 
eyes, “ but since you came home you are courte-. 
ous to the poor.” 

“ I have a model before me now,” said John, 
“ my Lord, a most fair example : 

“ The best of men 
That e’er wove earth about him — 

A kind, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, 

The first true gentleman that ever lived.” 

“ How happy we are to-day !” cried Jean, 
“ and how happy we have left everybody down 
there behind us !” 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. 333 


CHAPTER XVII. 

TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. 

“ Who did leave his Father’s throne 
To assume thy flesh and bone ? 

Had he life, or had he none ? 

“ If he had not lived for thee, 

Thou hadst died most wretchedly, 

And two deaths had been thy fee.” 

There had been a time in their infancy and 
childhood when the Cardiff twins had been 
closely like each other. In the stormy period of 
their early youth, John leading the way and 
Jean resolute to follow all his divarications, they 
had still been like. Then had come the hour 
when conscience, a most despotic power when 
roused to assert itself, had taken the command 
of Jean’s life as of that of her aunt Prudence, 
and Jean and John had diverged widely in 
words and works. Those were the times when 
John was throwing himself away, and physically 
deteriorated, appearing a weakling beside the 
stately development and elastic vigor of his sis- 
ter. Now again change had passed over John ; 
in him too conscience awoke to take the sceptre. 
John sowed to better harvests; physically he 
gained : tall and broad, he looked down on Jean 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


SS<^ 

from superior height ; he filled her with admira- 
tion of feats of strength in which she never 
thought to compete. Again they pursued the 
same studies, the same work, the same pleasures. 
John had come over to that moral vantage- 
ground where his aunt and sister stood ; they 
were like-minded once more. Jean’s spiritual 
life was calm, content, assured, strong in faith, 
rich in doing, too busy for others in the Master’s 
service to be carping about herself, or fearing 
that the Lord would forget her or had suffered 
her to deceive t'^rself. John had his dark hours. 
In his happy home, surrounded by friends, he 
came suddenly into lonely terror, such as in that 
first night alone in an open boat upon an un- 
known sea, when death sat on the thwart facing 
him, and mocked his miseries. There were hours 
when John questioned everything, especially his 
own sincerity and the hope of his calling ; when 
Satan came to him as to Luther, saying, “ Is it 
not in God’s word ‘ the soul that sinneth it shall 
die’? Your soul has sinned, and shall it not 
therefore die?” John had not been able to read 
Luther’s vigorous answer : “ Behold, Satan, it is 
written also that 'Jesus Christ came into the 
world to save sinners ;’ so, since I am a sinner, 
he came into the world to save me.” Instead 
John went tumbling down into the depths. Da- 
vid found the depths a very good place ; de pro- 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. SS7 

fundis clamaviy and reacliing from the profound 
of space “ he saw the helping of a hand.” John 
often found the darkness about him too great to 
see any helping hand. No doubt much of this 
was constitutional with John, and no doubt some 
of it was still the gathering of tares wherewith 
he had once sowed his life. 

“John,” said Mr. Moultrie, “when gloom 
overtakes you, get out and help somebody. Say 
to yourself, if you cannot be you can do. Get 
out, forget John Cardiff, even forget his destiny, 
and pull some other fellow out of the mire. Let 
yourself alone, and get at least this comfort, 
that you snatch some brother from despair and 
cheat the devil of some other prey. The best 
mental medicine for you, John, is action.” 

John felt that this diagnosis of his case was 
correct, at least it was better than any he could 
make for himself. While sometimes he re- 
mained by himself and gloomed, at others he 
worked out of the shadows. One evening — per- 
haps it was because he had worked more than 
usually hard at his studies, and Aunt Prudence 
and Jean were away on a visit — John felt very 
gloomy indeed. A brisk walk suggested itself to 
him. Going out, habit drew him unaware down 
toward Kelso Street, and on into Fitzig Street. 
When he reached there, the day was done ; the 
sky above the city was as gloriously blue and 


22 


338 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


pure as if it did not dome all that smoke and 
sin: in the clear depths that near world, Venus, 
burned in white flame, and all along the horizon 
was a deep crimson band, the waning splendors 
of the day, as if the city was a jewel of God’s 
choice hooped in a ring of Are. John stayed his 
steps in that broad vacant space where the Black 
Maria block had once defied God, cursed men, 
and had fallen in a night. The rubbish heaps 
had been cleared away, the new buildings be- 
gun, and already among the piles of granite and 
brick, and the beds of mortar, could be read the 
plan of what was to come. The passages were 
to be wide; the courts free from the horrible 
iniquities of box houses; drainage, ventilation, 
plenty of water privileges, were to be secured ; 
and lo ! a circular breathing space, where seats 
were to be placed, a fountain was to play, and 
sunshine could fall unobstructed. This space 
had been cleared and the basin for the fountain 
prepared. In the centre stood a short column. 
Upon this a piece of statuary was to stand. John 
had seen the designer’s plan for that — the gift 
of a rich man, foreign born, whom men called 
“Queer.” As John stood at the edge of the 
fountain-basin a man came up on the other side 
and stood looking about. There were red lan- 
terns burning here and there on the construc- 
tion heaps, overhead hung a full moon, whose 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. JSP 

white light made all the granite gleam like 
marble. 

“ What is to be here ?” asked the stranger. 

“ A piece of statuary — an old woman with a 
babe in her arms and two little children leaning 
on her knees ; around the base of the group 
will run this inscription : ‘ These perished here, 
forgotten of all but God.’ When the buildings 
here burned down, an old woman and three 
children perished in the attics ; there were no 
fire-escapes, though nearly three thousand peo- 
ple were crowded into this group of buildings ; 
the narrow, steep, filthy stairs were a death-trap, 
up which the flames went, cutting off hope of 
escape. He who gave this fountain and me- 
morial group has heard words here : ‘ The voice 
of thy brother’s blood crieth to me from the 
ground.' ” 

“ Why, what was there so bad beyond other 
places ? There are scores of just such tenement- 
houses. Why was such a din raised about the 
* Black Maria.’ ” 

“ Yes ; unfortunately there are such places, 
many of them, the earth is cursed with them, 
men are made beasts by them. There are many, 
and even one such would be too many. The 
time is coming when not one such place will be 
allowed; when the city will not permit such 
abuse and degradation of citizens ; when man- 


S 40 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

hood will not permit such trampling upon fel- 
low manhood ; when the church will not permit 
such desecration of the image of God. Every 
such place as the * Black Maria ’ will be wiped 
out, and the wage-earner will be granted a 
home and all the possibilities of a home. To 
kennel him in such places as the ‘ Black Maria ’ 
will be considered as disastrous an infringe- 
ment of right and decency as to allow him to 
work naked in the sun — as we see the old Egyp- 
tian workers pictured on monuments, or as I 
have seen the natives working in the South Sea 
islands.” 

“You are glib with your prophecies, young 
man. What will bring about such a change as 
this?” 

“Just that which has brought about such 
changes as the abolishing of the sale of wives 
and children for a man’s debts, or a lord’s 
right to slay his serf for any cause or no cause. 
That which will bring about the change will be 
God taking a hand in it — as he did here, for 
instance.” 

The stranger stood silent for a while, looking 
at the great vacancy between walls and walls, 
emptiness save for derricks here and there, 
where once that teeming horror had housed 
its thousands. Finally he said, “ Young man, I 
don’t know who you are, but I owned the 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. 341 

‘ Black Maria ’’then he turned and picking his 
way among blocks of stone, beams of wood, lit- 
tle heaps of granite chippings and scraps of tim- 
bers, he disappeared along the further side of 
Fitzig Street. 

“ He has come to look upon the field where 
he fought a battle with God and was worsted,” 
thought John to himself. The ascending moon 
warned him that it was time to turn homeward. 
His way lay through one of the business streets 
of the city. Stores filled with all manner of 
merchandize lined the walks. Windows full of 
jewels and silverware, cut glass, painted china, 
glowing pictures, rows upon rows of books, 
choice fabrics of all varieties : people passed in 
haste, or idly stood to admire, or eagerly to crave. 
Among the windows was one of a large cloth- 
ing store, a window filled with suits, attractively 
exhibited, with ties, hats, kerchiefs — a full out- 
fit. Before this window stood a youth of about 
John’s age and height, but thin and stooping of 
shoulders ; his face was pale, hinting of recent 
illness ; his clothes were threadbare, thin, out- 
grown, frayed, clean, but little likely to resist 
much more brushing; the lad’s shoes were 
patched and out of shape ; his big hands, hang- 
ing by his side, were working convulsively. 
John had seen various passions deeply limned 
on human faces— hate, pity, love, envy, rage; 


342 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


but as he passed he thought that he never had 
seen such a longing, such intense craving writ- 
ten on any face, as on that other lad’s as he 
looked at those garments. “ Poor fellow, he just 
fairly devours them with his eyes,” thought 
John. Then it flashed upon him that in his own 
purse lay, practically unneeded, money enough 
to cover all that want ; he could be a providence 
to that other boy; he had not been asked, neither 
is Providence always asked ; need is a sufficient 
prayer. All this filled John’s heart with a great 
joy, the reflection of the joy coming into that 
fellow creature’s heart through him. He turned 
back : the lad with a sigh and a face of bitter 
despair, was leaving the window. John laid his 
hand upon his shoulder. 

“ Nice suits, ar’ n’t they ? Want one ?” 

“ Do n’t I ? But what ’s the use of want- 
ing?” 

'‘Come in and get one: having a suit will 
make you glad, and giving it will make me glad. 
Two glads for the cost of one suit.” 

“ The lad started, hesitated, flushed. 

“I see,” said John, “you’ve been sick; and 
that means out of work, and that means out of 
money. You’ve outgrown your clothes while 
you were sick ; some folks do ; I did.” 

“ Yes, and I can’t get any kind of nice light 
work, such as a half-sick fellow can do, because, 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. 34.3 

you see, I look so shabby. I Ve got a good 
recommendation or two, but as soon as they see 
a gawky, lean, ill-dressed fellow, they hunch up 
their shoulders and say, ‘ Nothing.’ ” 

*‘Come along in, we’ll knock spots out of 
that objection by decking you out in a new suit; 
come on.” 

“ You ’re not fooling me, are you ?” hesitated 
the lad. 

“ Why, do I look like a cad that would add 
insult to injury ? Look here, I ’ve been through 
the depths myself, and I know what trouble is, 
though perhaps not exactly your kind of trou- 
ble.” 

** I hope you ’ll excuse me for seeming so sus- 
picious,” said the lad, “ I ’ve had so much hard 
treatment. I ’ve been in the hospital over two 
months, had typhoid-pneumonia. Now I’m out 
I went back to my place — I was in the pack- 
ing-room of a wholesale china store — and they 
thought I did n’t look strong enough to do about 
twice as hard work as they paid wages for, so 
though I ’d served them well for over two years, 
they turned me back to starve, with nothing 
from them but a recommendation— and they as 
rich as Jews ! Then I ’ve paid my lodging 
faithfully till three nights ago, when I didn’t 
have it to pay, and the woman told me not to 
come back, she could n’t house me for nothing. 


344 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


Yet she was my mother’s cousin, and many a 
pail of water I ’ve carried for her !” 

“Come in, come in!” said John, “it will be 
more fun trying on suits than thinking of your 
injuries. 

They went in and John ordered a suit, shoes, 
cap, underclothes. It is hard for the habitually 
well-fed to realize that anyone can be hungry. 
Like the French Princess, they believe that the 
poor always have plenty of bread and cheese. 
Possibly it was because John had been almost 
starved once himself, that now it was borne in 
upon his mind that this lean lad was suffering 
from lack of food. When the purchases were 
made, put on, and the old garments were rolled 
into a bundle, John said to his new friend, 

“ Come on, let ’s go to a restaurant ; how would 
chocolate, corn-bread, and a chop strike you ?” 

“ They ’d knock me silly,” said the boy with 
a joyful laugh. While they were eating — John 
pretending rather than really eating, for he had 
dined at six, his prot^g^ said, “ I know I eat as 
if I felt hungry, and I am. This is the first fair 
meal I ’ve had for three days. I ’ve been living 
on five cents a day.” 

“ Whew !” cried John, “ what can you get for 
five cents?” 

“ Six biscuits, rolls I mean, a day old. I ate 
two each meal.” 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE, 345 

“ Well, I 've seen the time when two biscuits 
would have looked pretty rich living to me,” 
said John, and leaning forward, idly playing with 
his spoon, he told his tale of shipwreck. The 
other lad with rounded eyes, and almost too in- 
terested to eat, heard the tale and regarded him 
as a hero. When they left the restaurant John 
said, “ It is nearly ten. Do you know where you 
can get a bed?” 

Yes. There ’s a men’s lodging-house down 
that street. Beds fifteen and twenty-five cents.” 

“ There then — there ’s fifty cents ; get a bed 
and a breakfast and be on this corner at nine 
o’clock, waiting for me.” 

“ Young gentleman,” said the lad earnestly, 
“ I haven’t any words to tell you how I feel for 
your kindness. You seem to me like the fairy 
people I used to read about when I was a little 
shaver, or like the gods that came down and 
gave men favors, as I read in some books I had 
about Rome and Greece. I like books, and I 
thought a heap of those. I bought them second- 
hand out of money I’d saved off my -feeding, 
but I had to sell them this last week for the lit- 
tle I ’ve lived on.” 

Cheer up,” said John, “you may get them 
back. Good-night.” 

John walked home whistling and singing: 
he forgot that he had ever had a black hour. 


346 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

He found Mr. Moultrie in the library, told him 
about seeing Mr. Tubbs, and then about the 
starving lad. “ To-morrow morning I mean to 
take him round to Dr. Imlay and ask him to see 
if he needs any more doctoring.” 

That’s right: do a kindness thoroughly 
when you begin one. Tell me, John, would you 
have noticed this lad’s trouble and have cared 
for him in this way a few years ago ?” 

“Of course not; I was such a fool I should 
have said his troubles were his own lookout and 
no affair of mine.” 

“And what has made the difference, John ? 
The whole currents of your being have set an- 
other way. This is nothing less than the great 
power of God. This is the Christ being formed 
in you the hope of glory. Your Lord will not 
disdain to say to you one day, ‘ I was naked and 
ye clothed me.’ ” 

The next day John took his proteg4 Jem 
Long, to Dr. Imlay. 

“ Run down, discouraged, underfed, over- 
tired, not fully pulled out of his sickness yet,” 
said Dr. Imlay. “ Needs a shoulder - brace to 
straighten up those bowed shoulders, and some 
exercise in your gymnasium, eh, John ?” 

“ Yes ; but he needs work most, doctor. 
That would take the discouragement out of 
him.” 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. 347 

“ So it would ; so it would. See here, Long, 
can you drive ?” 

“Yes, sir; I drove a deal for the China 
house.” 

“ My day driver, a lad of your age, dislocated 
his knee cap about an hour ago, by tumbling 
down-stairs. I have put him in plaster and he ’ll 
be off duty for four or five weeks. Let us see 
what you can do in his place. It will be the 
very thing for you to drive about all day in this 
delicious weather. After that we’ll no doubt 
find you steady work if you turn out well. He 
that ’s worth work gets work.” 

“Always, doctor?” queried John, who was 
beginning to look below the surface and see 
into the heart of things. The doctor looked at 
John and shook his head. “ It ’s a riddle,” he 
said, “ a riddle, this nineteenth century life with 
its bad and its good, its boasting and failing. 
A riddle.” 

“ A riddle that will need solving with a sword 
maybe, like that of the sphinx,” said John. 

“ Perhaps rather with the gospel,” said the 
doctor. 

“ Do you mean that Christian people are to 
set all matters right?” asked Jem Long, throw- 
ing himself into the conversation. “ Why, sir, 
that firm I worked for, doing my very best, over 
hours, morning, fairly running my legs off to 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


accomodate, they were great church people, sir, 
and ran the biggest kind of a Sunday-school; 
but it was not right for them to give me only 
three and a quarter a week when I did work that 
was easy worth five ! It was not right for them 
when I had done my best, and got sick of a cold 
doing their errands in the rain — without over- 
shoes, or umbrella, or whole boots, because the 
wages were so low — I say it was not right for 
them to feel no interest in me, and refuse to take 
me back, saying, ‘ Oh, you ’re not strong enough 
for us, Jem !’ Is that the kind of Christians that 
will make things right ?” 

‘‘No,” said the doctor, shaking his head as 
over a very bad case indeed, “ no, my lad ; I ’m 
afraid that is the kind of surface Christianity 
that develops infidels and socialists. The fact is 
that in these days Christianity, or a fluent pro- 
fession of the same is popular, wins confidence, 
gives a man prominence ; and it is a great temp- 
tation to some men to bid for public good-will 
by exibiting a semblance of Christianity which 
does not delve deep into the heart, remodel the 
life, and liberate the purse.” 

John Cardiff walked home slowly pondering 
how far that hasty statement “ he that ’s worth 
work gets work ” was correct. He had seen 
many men in his experiences among the wage- 
workers, men ready and willing to work, able to 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. S49 

work hard and like Jem Long prepared to give 
for wages more than the wages paid for, who 
yet stood idle in the market-place. He still 
thought on these things that evening when the 
Cardiff parlors were full of the friends of Aunt 
Prudence, who were discussing the question how 
to help the young working women, and were 
maturing plans to make the new block of build- 
ings truly helpful to them in making homes and 
in obtaining fair wages. 

^*The best of men,” said Aunt Prudence, 
“ find tremendous difficulties besetting the way 
to righteousness, to constant right-doing. How 
special and terrible are the difficulties for a girl, 
single-handed, alone, half educated or quite un- 
educated. The finding of work and wages is 
not for these girls a matter of choice, it is an 
affair of force, that or starve, that or die. How 
often girls have come to me saying, ‘ Find me 
something honest to do ; my money is gone. I 
have tramped the streets for work until I am 
footsore and my shoes are worn out. I have no 
money, no work, no home unless I pay for it.' ” 
Where,” said Dr. Yancy, “is the helping 
hand ? Where a real Christian is, is the hand 
of the Christ. That helping clasp of his human 
flesh must be through us his followers, for he 
has ascended to the skies and left the poor 
always with us.” 


350 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 


“ They tell us,” said Mr. Dysart, that the 
efficient are always fed. Are they? Suppose 
we grant it. What of the thousands who cannot 
be efficient for lack of training, for lack of op- 
portunity ? There are two hundred and ninety- 
three thousand working - girls in this country. 
Most of them in cities where neighbor does not 
know neighbor, and the individual is lost in the 
crowd. Is it not a fair estimate to grant that the 
ninety-three thousand are skilled workers after 
whom the wage-payers will seek, and whom they 
cannot do without ? Then what is to become of 
the two hundred thousand, if only the efficient 
are sure to be fed ?” 

It seems to me,” said Mrs. Yancy, it would 
be well to try and help them to become efficient. 
They should have opportunities for early train- 
ing. There should be patience shown them ; 
they should not be hastily cast out on the high- 
ways of life to perish, cast out because of some 
slight fault or of well-meaning ignorance. We 
are willing to show our own well-dowered chil- 
dren how. Why not show these others how ?” 

'‘We want a bureau of friendship,” cried 
Helen Cary, “a place where they can come 
when out of work and out of wages, and when 
the mouth of hell is yawning wide at them. 
We want in every city places not beset with red 
tape and garrisoned by indifference, but places 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. 351 

where hearts are kind, and ears are attentive, 
and minds are quick with suggestion.” 

“ Yes,” said Aunt Prudence, “ we do n’t want 
to wait until neglect has driven them mad, and 
then set open the Door of Hope and say, ‘ Come ! 
Return ! Repent !’ That is good ; prevention is 
better.” 

“ There are stores,” said Mr. Moultrie, “ that 
can pay good wages if they would, are amply 
able to pay good wages, but do not because 
they can take advantage of necessities and get 
their clerks for starvation wages. Women, mil- 
lionaire women who are joint owners of a flour- 
ishing business, dare expect God to forgive them 
when they offer girls three dollars a week for 
their whole living, in a city where board, cannot 
be had in a safe place for less than three dollars 
and a half. There are stores where yearly profit 
nears or reaches a million, where girl clerks are 
paid as low as three or four dollars a week, are 
shut out at slack times; are required to dress 
well, to wear well laundered clothes, and are 
kept late over hours in busy times. It seems to 
me that much of that profit was dyed red with 
blood-money !’' 

If women, rich women, made common cause 
with poor women,” cried Jean, “these things 
would not be. Why cannot we have Women’s 
Bureaus, not administered by salaried people 


S 32 THE CARDIFF ESTATE, 

who serve for salaries and do not really care, 
but where workers and sisters with warm hearts 
stand ready to hear, advise, help, protect, de- 
fend.” 

“Ah, yes,” said Dr. Yancy, “open doors, 
wherein the Man of Galilee would stand, if he 
came that way.” 

Said Mr. Moultrie, “ When all the great do- 
mains of Sutherland were desolated of inhabi- 
tants to make way for sheep, turning the homes 
of men into folds for sheep, the woes of a thou- 
sand beggared exiles drew forth this strong pro- 
test : 

“ Spake the Eternal, and must then another land 

Now be accursed ? Say by whom was this done ? 

Harriet Howard, haught Duchess of Sutherland, 

Thine was the name that rung out to the Throne.” 

“ The suitable housing of wage-earners,” said 
Mr. Dysart, is one of the burning questions of 
the day ; it is coming to the front, and will stand 
there until solved. Another question that will 
also demand honest solution is that of proper 
wages for working women. The humanitarian 
as well as the Christian feels that these are 
themes of the hour.” 

“ Mr. Lin wood told me the other day,” said 
Jean, “ that we were beginning wrong ; the place 
to begin, he says, is at the top, with the me- 
chanics and better paid workmen, who would be 


TILL CHRIST BE FORMED IN THEE. 333 

able to move into the suburbs and continually 
buy their houses. He says suburban homes will 
lessen the congestion of the cities, and leave the 
tenement-houses less crowded. He thinks we 
are all wrong beginning with the Kelso Street 
Rents. 

‘‘What did you tell him?” asked John. 

“ I told him that he might be quite right in 
his plan of beginning at the top, but that Provi- 
dence had plainly shown us that we were to 
begin at the bottom, because we were the owners 
of a certain slum, once known to ill-fame as 
Cardiff Rents, but which was now gaining a less 
evil notoriety. Mr. Linwood is on the right 
side though, John. He says that owners of 
houses where wage-earners live should be satis- 
find with five per cent, on their property. Five 
per cent, is as much as the banks give and as 
much as Government Bonds yield, and the 
house-owner should not insist on squeezing 
more out of houses than he can get out of most 
other safe investments. He also told me that in 
one area in New York two hundred and fifty- 
five thousand tenants were found, of people com- 
pelled to live in the city the year round, and do 
rough, hot, dirty work ; yet of all this great 
number only three hundred and six people had 
facilities for bathing, while great and rich and 
boastful as New York is she has no public bath. 

23 


354 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


Why, what cruelty this is ! How can people live 
so? What should we do without baths ?” 

The intense, fairly pathetic earnestness with 
which Jean put this question called forth a laugh. 

“We laugh,” said Miss Prudence; “laughter 
is very often humanity’s refuge from tears I 
There is more in this bath question than a nice 
clean face. Two hundred and fifty-four children 
in a thousand die in these hot, crowded, water- 
famine houses ?” 

“ And what is the death rate in other locali- 
ties, here in ours?” asked John. 

“ Thirty,” said Dr. Imlay. “ Herod, known 
to evil fame, never slaughtered half so many 
innocents as our tenement house system, un- 
whipped of justice slaughters in one year.” 

“ Death dogs these ill-housed homeless wage- 
earners all along the line,” said Mr. Dysart. 
“Twenty-one in a thousand is the entire city 
death rate ; about fifteen in a thousand for the 
healthful localities such as this, but sixty-two in 
a thousand in the tenement-houses. * The voice 
of thy brother’s blood calleth unto me from the 
ground !’ ” 


HOME? 


355 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

HOME? 

“As on the sea of Galilee, 

The Christ is whispering peace.” 

Warmer weather again, and the Cardiffs were 
preparing to leave the city. They were not to 
go alone. There was a sea-side cottage to be 
arranged for, where mothers and children could 
be sent for outings of two or three weeks. The 
tireless hospitality of the Cardiff farm was still 
offered, and for three months pairs of city chil- 
dren could go up there for a month’s vacation 
each, to get acquainted with nature and learn 
the other and sweeter side of life. 

The Lindsays were gone from the city. The 
market-garden farm was bought. Janey was 
married. John and Jean had driven out to see 
them one beautiful long spring day, and had 
come home with an invitation for a three weeks’ 
visit for Lois Lacy, and an offer of adoption for 
some destitute orphan when one should be found. 
Said Mrs. Lindsay, “ Now that the Lord has 
made us sae rich, we maun share wi’ the puir.” 

“So rich,” said John to Jean as they stood 
under showers of rosy fragrant snow coming 
down upon them from the apple trees ; eight or 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


356 

nine hundred each, and a mortgage on this little 
place, and they are ‘so rich!’ I believe, Jean, 
that poverty or wealth is an affair of the heart, 
and riches are as we look at them. I ’ve seen 
some terribly poor millionaires, and we both 
know people who plead poverty all the time 
while they have from fifty to a hundred thou- 
sand well invested.” 

One lovely evening John and Jean were sit- 
ting by the open windows of the drawing-room, 
where they had a view along the street. The 
long rosy glow of a spring evening was smiling 
back the twilight. 

“Hillo!” said John, “who is this wanderer 
from some other sphere who has strayed into 
our precincts? Jean, our streets are so shady 
and broad and clean hereabouts, I wonder why 
more poor people do not stroll through them.” 

“ Because there is too little fellowship be- 
tween rich and poor,” said Jean looking toward 
the pedestrian noted by John. 

He was a tall larged-boned man of a sham- 
bling gait ; he wore a comfortable new suit, a 
stiff felt hat, his heavy new shoes rang upon the 
pavement ; he wheeled a large, cheap but strong 
baby carriage, in which were two children. 

“ Why, that ’s Sime Ridder !” said Jean ; “ I ’m 
going out to see his children, perhaps he came 
up this way to show them.” 


HOME? 


357 


Sime looking toward his goal, the Cardiff 
mansion, saw a gracious girl coming down the 
wide granite steps, the light breeze fluttered soft- 
ly the folds of her white dress, and blew toward 
Sime the rich fragrance of a great bunch of car- 
nations fastened at her belt. 

“ Both the children out for an airing, Mr. 
Ridder ! I want to see them. What have you 
named the baby ?” Jean turned back the little 
knit shawl wherewith the careful ’Mandy Ann 
had covered the pink face of the new inhabitant 
of the planet earth. 

“Jean, Miss. It is to remind me 'n 'Mandy 
Ann a bit of your name ; an’ Patience, to like- 
wise suggest your Aunt Miss Cardiff. Jean Pa- 
tience, it is as near as we ’d make bold to come 
to it, but that far is pleasing to me.” 

“ It is a nice name, and a nice baby, Mr. Rid- 
der,” said Jean. She did not slip a banknote 
into the baby’s pink palm ; she knew Sime had 
not brought his children there for a gift. She 
took the flowers from her belt, and laid them 
above the baby’s pillow. 

“ You are giving them a long airing and this 
is a nice street to come to, it is so quiet and 
shaded. How well both the little ones look, and 
your wife is well too ?” 

“ Indeed she is. Miss, doing fine. Jean Pa- 
tience is the only one of our four born at home ; 


35S 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


but now we bave a home, a place that can be 
kept clean and quiet, why we ’re glad and proud 
for the baby to be born there. Says I to ’Mandy 
Ann, them two cherubs looks so nice. I ’m goin’ 
to show them to the young lady ; an’ ’Mandy 
Ann she says, ‘yes, do.’ 

“ There they be, Miss, and a whole heart full 
of comfort resides in them two. The Lord has 
give me back all he took away — if it was the 
Lord took ’em away. It ’s that I ’m at a stand 
over, for you see them two babies died of con- 
ditions that was n’t of the Lord’s makin’, I know. 
Peter Gess, he reads out a lot of Scripture to 
us on Sunday afternoons. Sometimes as many 
as a dozen or fifteen is a sittin’ about, hearken- 
ing to him. Last Sunday he read out the Lord 
gave an’ the Lord taketh away, blessed be the 
name of the Lord. He says to me, “ Sime, mind 
that, an’ don’t you go to quarrelling against 
God.” Says I, “ Peter Gess, when I ’ve made up 
my mind it was God, then, says I, I ’ll say them 
words, if so be I gets grace to do it. But, Miss, 
it was n’t to quote Peter, nor yet me, nor even 
to show you the babies I came here to-night. 
Rufus Hapgood, he has laid out to me that the 
spoken word can’t in no wise be called back ; he 
says it goes on an’ on making waves in the air, 
as a pebble does in water, and once gone, is out 
of your reach for ever Miss, if that is the case 


HOME? 


359 


of a man and his words, well would it be for him 
to keep his mouth shut on most occasions. But, 
Miss, if we can’t take ’em back, we can express 
better feelin’s. Do you mind the first time ever 
you see me ? I was like a man mad along of 
my troubles, many of them of my own providing, 
and not being able rightly to sort out my own 
blame from other peoples’. Why, Miss, I heaved 
the whole lot on other folks. I said wild hard 
words to you, Miss, and more than that I cursed 
my neighbor, and that is what no one has a right 
to do, be the neighbor alive or dead. Yes, Miss, 
I said the Cardiff appetite for money had de- 
voured my children and spoiled my life. True it 
is for you, Miss, you took some of that same 
money and made a man of me by giving me a 
home, and into that home the Lord has sent two 
children, and I 'm able to give ’em food and 
clothes, not to omit a baby-carriage and a toy 
now and then, I ’ve got an outlook. Miss ; there ’s 
hope and encouragement in my lot. So I want 
to ask you to wipe out of your mind so far as 
you can all the wildness I talked yonder ; the 
name of Cardiff is turned to a blessing down 
yonder. There ’s the Cardiff kindergarten, the 
Cardiff Comfort Hall, the Cardiff Chapel. There’s 
two blocks of the Cardiff Rents, good homes 
in them both, there ’s the Babies Milk D^p6t ; 
there ’s the new buildings going up, with hope 


j6o THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

in them for the girls ; there ’s the expectation 
we have now of new pavements down here ; 
we Ve got the nurse, the Bible- woman, the little 
school for girls, and what do you think. Miss ! 
for two weeks, three nights in a week if a band 
has n’t come down there and played to us for an 
hour, free. Rufus Hapgood, he says he ’s sure 
that ’s your brother’s doing. It do cheer us up 
amazing. Now, Miss, good-night and a blessing 
on you, and all of your name whether looking 
backward or forward, for you ’ve made it a bless- 
ing !” 

Sime Ridder had been holding his felt hat 
by the rim, looking deeply into the crown to find 
his remarks, as if he suspected that his laboring 
ideas had oozed through his head and taken re- 
fuge in the Derby. Evidently Sime was proud of 
his new suit, but far from easily at home therein. 

“You look very thriving and comfortable,” 
said Jean approvingly. 

“ I am that. Miss. There ’s a plenty more 
would be lifting themselves up, if some of their 
betters would but hold out the hand to them to 
give them a lift. It ’s a fair footing a man 
needs, if he ’s to get out of a swamp like. You 
give us the fair footing when you gave us 
homes to make a start in. I don’t make my 
feelings plain, miss. What I want to say shines 
about one like a whole music-hall of light and 


HOME? 


^6i 

sound, but I can’t fetch it over my tongue. I 
never was a master-hand at wrastling over ideas, 
it takes Peter Gess to do that. So good-night to 
you. Miss.” 

Jean turned to reascend the steps as Sime 
trundled his willow wagon away, but she paused ; 
an old friend was drawing near. 

Well, Jean, is that one of your special pro- 
tdg^s? He’s not handsome. Why don’t you 
drop this philanthropy fad, child, and be hap- 
py?” 

“I am happy — really, deeply happy,” said 
Jean, lifting her radiant eyes, dimples lurking 
in her cheeks and about her pretty mouth, “ all 
the happier for finding ways of being useful.” 

“ Leave such ways to older and duller folks. 
What society wants of girls like you is to be- 
come charming social queens, agreeable ladies 
at home and abroad.” 

'‘I’m sure I ’m agreeable, I know I am. I 
make a point of it,” laughed Jean. With this 
old friend’s granddaughters Jean had once quar- 
relled over baby-rattles and disputed rubber 
dolls, rings, and other infant riches. 

“ I ’m sure this work will wear you out and 
make you old before your time, little girl.” 

“ I feel sure that it will, in its infinite variety, 
be to me a spring of perpetual youth. Even if 
it were not — even if I knew it would wear on 


362 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


me and bring age too soon — bow could I lay it 
down when once I have seen the need? It 
would be impossible ; once having seen what I 
should do, there is no way for me but to do it.” 

“ I see, the Cardiff conscience. Cardiff con- 
science is at times hard to rouse, but being 
roused it is potent. Your Aunt Prudence is a 
case in point of the mastery of conscience in the 
Cardiffs. When your grandfather was a young 
man, he paid out ten thousand dollars to his 
own evident loss, to keep his word, when he 
had given no written signature and could not 
be compelled by any law — ' 

“ But the law of his conscience,” interposed 
Jean. I am glad he did that, it gave him 
moral strength ; it could not have been to his 
loss.” 

“ Well, I tell you what, ten thousand was a 
big lot of money in those days — and big to him, 
a beginner in business. A very honorable man 
was your grandfather, though he would have 
stared at these philanthropy fads. He put into 
the market such tenements as he had : people 
rented them with their eyes open ; if they did 
not like them, let them go ; he forced no one. 
Why, after all, was not that proper business 
dealing? He dealt with adults, not minors.” 

“ I think the poor are often put in the help- 
less condition of minors by their lack of educa- 


HOME? 


363 

tion and their disadvantages of living. It seems 
to me that to offer them miserable lodgings be- 
cause they are obliged to take them, being so 
poverty-stricken, is to take advantage of their 
necessities. I wish my grandfather’s conscience 
had waked up about his poor neighbors in his 
tenement-houses. ’ ’ 

Do you know I think conscience becomes 
more sensitive, applies itself to more subjects as 
the years go on. This care of the housing of 
the poor, for instance, is stirring many people 
to work and to sacrifice, yet how well off the 
most wretched poor in these days are in com- 
parison with the serfs of the middle ages. Who 
cared then if a lord killed a few serfs in a rage ? 
it did not lower his standing in the community 
one whit. Now states-prison for life, or capital 
punishment summarily dealt out, would be his 
portion. In those old days a serf, man or wo- 
man, could be yoked to cart or plow and driven 
in the furrows of the field. Now the poor work 
if they wish to ; if not they may stay idle.” 

“ Do n’t you think it might be better put that 
they work if they can get work ? What about 
the great army of the unemployed ? Some of 
the asphalt pavement superintendents have told 
me that whenever they need thirty men a hun- 
dred or more are on hand, fierce to be employed. 
As to the number of serfs,” added Jean with a 


3^4 


THE CARDIFF ESTATE. 


shudder, “ Mr. Moultrie has been taking John 
and me through a course of history of the Mid- 
dle Ages in Europe, ‘ History of Civilization,’ 
‘ Constitutional History of England,’ and many 
more histories very largely filled with atrocities. 
I am glad those terrible middle ages have gone 
by — but do you think it is not murder to-day to 
crowd people into such close, filthy, unventila- 
ted, waterless, undrained quarters that the nat- 
ural death rates are doubled or trebled? The 
tenement-house owner may be directly respon- 
sible, but no prison opens for him, no pillory of 
public opinion disgraces him. Sometimes I 
think the world will go on until this century we 
are living in is known as Dark or Middle Ages, 
and people will wonder how men could look 
with indifference as we do on other men’s mis- 
eries. Suppose that should be ?” 

“You are incorrigible; so is my grand- 
daughter, Helen Cary. Well, if I cannot hinder 
I may help. Let me tell you, child, that ten 
thousand your grandfather paid to keep his 
word, kept me from ruin, and thanks to it I have 
been a prosperous business man. I always in- 
tended to make it good. As long as your grand- 
father lived I was not in a position where he 
was willing to let me return it, as he was more 
prosperous than I. He left it to my conscience. 
During your father’s life I kept putting it off ; 


HOME? 


365 


people are given to putting off such debts and 
playing with conscience; also I had the item 
provided for in my will. You think that your 
grandfather erred in this tenement-house busi- 
ness ; perhaps he did ; if there ’s a blot on his 
memory there, I will take the ten thousand to 
wash it off. In what shall I invest ten thousand 
for the inhabitants of Cardiff Rents and for their 
neighbors Kelso Street way T 

Jean had seated herself on the piazza and her 
old friend had seated himself beside her. The 
girl joyfully clapped her hands. “ I know ! I 
know ! John, come out here !” John came. Just 
then Aunt Prudence appeared in view ; she had 
been calling on a friend a few doors off. “Aunt 
Prudence!” cried Jean, “what do we want very 
much? Is it not what we talked about this 
morning at breakfast, a Rest Home near by on 
the coast where we can send wornout working- 
girls and women to recuperate; where those 
who are just on the verge of a breakdown can 
recover strength to go on with their daily bread- 
winning?” 

“We need that very much,” said Aunt Pru- 
dence. “Are you prepared to give us that, Mr. 
Cary ?” 

“ No, not I, Miss Prudence ; but your brother 
is ; he, from time long past, reaches a hand that 
has long been dust and offers you ten thousand 


S66 THE CARDIFF ESTA TE. 

dollars to do such a deed as he would have done 
to-day if he had lived until now.” 

Then they went into the parlor and called 
Mr. Moultrie from his room to aid in the consul- 
tation, and until late discussed a plan for a 
Cardiff Workers’ Rest. 

“ There ’s a twelve-room cottage, facing the 
sea, right near our sea-side house,” said John ; 
“ the owner offers it for three thousand dollars. 
It is sound, plain, old-fashioned, but will do well 
for our purpose. That would leave seven thou- 
sand for a fund to run it on.” 

“We should need two women there to keep 
the house and do the work except the washing. 
The visitors could wash for themselves, and 
keep the rooms in order,” said Aunt Prudence. 

“ Would n’t be much left of the interest of 
seven thousand after two salaries were paid,” 
said Mr. Cary. 

“You could get plenty of women— say mo- 
ther and daughter, or two middle-aged sisters,” 
said Mr. Moultrie, “ who would be thankful for 
a good home and quiet life in a healthful place, 
and their board, with seventy-five dollars a year. 
You don’t know how hard the world is put to it 
for a living, Mr. Cary.” 

“Aijd you are willing to take advantage of 
its necessities?” said the old gentleman, with a 
sly look at Jean. 


HOME? 


367 


“I do not think this is taking advantage,” 
said Mr. Moultrie. We offer a comfortable, 
healthy, happy living to those who are not 
skilled enough or strong enough to make larger 
wages elsewhere, and to whom the larger wages 
do not offer. Consider that board and shelter 
take nearly all the working women’s wages, and 
these we provide. Of course if this house is 
bought and the seven thousand is invested as a 
permanent fund, we must needs go afield for 
furnishing and for further funds to add to the 
very small sum left for current expenses.” 

“The day Jean and I come of age,” said 
John, taking the hand of his sister, “ we will 
each add a thousand to that permanent invest- 
ment as a thank-offering : Jean because God has 
restored perfectly her sight ; I because he sent 
from above and took me and drew me out of 
deep waters.” 

“ You may put me down for a couple of hun- 
dred a year, which I shall charge my son to 
continue after my death,” said Mr. Cary. “ Get 
the rest where you can and will, I give that 
much to show that there is a Cary as well as a 
Cardiff Conscience.” 


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